


Scars, treasures, and keepsakes

by alivealivealive



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drinking & Talking, Growing Apart, Growing Up, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Pining, Rated M for language, Running Into Your Ex, Second Chances, Simon Snow is a mess lmao, Slow Burn, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Other(s) (past), lots of reminiscing yall
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:15:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27400099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alivealivealive/pseuds/alivealivealive
Summary: Simon and Baz broke up after the Watford tragedy. It’s been a long six years.Out of pure loneliness, Baz goes to a stranger’s New Year’s Eve party.  Simon is just helping his roommate out by making the appetisers for her party.They run into each other. They find themselves reminiscing of their golden days together. They find their way back home.This is a very soft, vulnerable slow-burn type of story. Enjoy! (set 6 years post WS)
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 78
Kudos: 127





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy 🖤

Baz doesn’t know why he’s there, climbing up a stranger's steps in this weather, carrying a bottle of liquor like he actually cares about this stupid New Year’s Eve party.

He should be home watching a film, or even better, he should’ve gone to Hampshire and gotten sozzled with Fiona like they do every year. Maybe they’d even sneak a drink or two for Mordelia now that she’s in her rebellious streak.

He doesn’t blame her. It seems to be a family thing, to rebel against all tradition and the family’s pride once you reach adolescence. Although he’d say for him it was definitely _Simon Snow._

His Father didn’t lose it that bad with the occasional smoking, the vampirism or his queerness, or even with him refusing to kill Simon a million times, making up excuses instead of just acting out the Families’ plans. But when he knew they were a thing, he completely went against him.

He’d talk to him politely, he’d invite him to Sunday roast, but the sort of talking thing they sometimes did in Father’s office stopped happening, at least not during Simon and Baz’s short-lived relationship. If it was a matter of trust or a matter of pure hate towards the Chosen One, Baz never found out. 

None of that matters, because Baz is here now, since he willingly agreed to come to his co-worker’s sister's New Year’s Eve party in a moment where he was feeling particularly lonely, and even though he regrets not staying home, he’s too polite to ghost Adriana.

She’s the book smart, no-nonsense type, and that’s why he likes her. Baz has been friends with her for three years, just as long as he’s worked in the same office. She’s a Normal, and he smiles at the thought of Watford Era Baz having a friend who isn’t a mage, but to be realistic, once you’re out in the real world it becomes complicated to stay friends only with your Watford pals.

Especially since well, he’d lost his two best friends and boyfriend at once. When he tries to categorise Snow as either, it becomes complicated. Snow was undoubtedly the only person that knew him. _Still is,_ he thinks to himself. Sure, Baz even had a boyfriend after, and Abel knew him. Knew how he liked his coffee, his Pad Thai order, he could even make him come a million different ways, but he didn’t really know the whole thing. He never cared to press Baz enough to know why he was guarded.

Never knew about the vampirism. Never knew everything he and Simon went through or the nights he spent during his teenage years, down in the Catacombs, drunk off his mind, crying and trying to mourn his Mother in the only way he knew how.

But he was funny and warm and during their two years together Baz loved him. Not in a _“I’ll write a sonnet about you”_ kind of way, but in a way that was enough. Abel was a mage, three years older, so things were easy for a bit, but when he started talking about marriage and magical bonds Baz just couldn’t bear it.

So, he broke up with him. In the middle of the night, right after sex. He’d been thinking about it for weeks, but Abel was going off about marriage rites and Baz just couldn’t ever think of tying his magic to someone who wasn’t Simon. He’d felt terrified to even think about it, so he got dressed and sat at the edge of the bed and told him this was it. He was embarrassed but proud of himself for not saying yes to make Abel happy.

Anyway, when it was clear that he and Simon weren’t going to get back together, he’d stopped seeing Penelope. They’d still text on birthdays and Christmas, and Baz even sent her and Shepard a bottle of wine when he saw they were engaged on Instagram. It was well-received. He always got the sense Bunce understood why he couldn’t bear to be his friend after everything. The conversation would always drift back to Simon, and he couldn’t take it. 

At first, he tried, and he was happy when he was with her, eating and talking, but after he’d go home and crumble once he was alone in his bedroom. He tried to keep the friendship going anyway, but after a year of him not seeing Simon, it became obvious to him he couldn’t heal that close to him.

So, he settled for missing Simon from afar. It’s been six years since he last saw him in person. Sometimes he reads the occasional article about him on a magical newspaper, but at this point, it feels more like reading about a celebrity than reading about his ex. He still missed him, anyway. The only person that knew him like that.

He missed the good times, particularly after the whole Watford on fire tragedy, they’d become inseparable. Simon was the only one who could quiet his fears, hold him through a nightmare. Back then, his twenty-year-old brain thought he’d marry him in a year or two, going this time with his old-fashioned beliefs. Tie their magics together. Uniting the bit of power that returned to Simon and all that old House of Pitch magic. He laughs at the thought now.

Things were heavenly for a short three months, lots of expert kisses, cuddles, late-night talks and playing house while Simon went to therapy and Baz helped him get into Uni, this time for real and once he went to his first week of class, he’d just dipped.

They never spoke again. Except for the time they ran into each other at Bunce’s Christmas party that same year, three months after their breakup. They ran from the party, rented the cheapest Hotel room in Hounslow and had sex like the world was ending, fangs and wings out, it was all desperate kisses and soft mouths and promises and cuddling after.

The morning after, Baz went home and blocked Simon from everywhere. That was really the last time they saw each other excluding for that one time at Tesco, but Baz had run away as soon as he saw him from afar near the biscuits section and never looked back.

Baz knocks at the door, knowing he’s a good hour late, but he doesn’t like to arrive early enough to have to make conversation with the hosts. He’s never met Adriana’s sister, and from what she’s told him during the lunch breaks they take at Costa between clients, she went to a special boarding school, is a chemistry teacher and lives with a roommate and her cat.

The walk up to her building is nice, he observes, looking back. There’s a side garden, lots of Poinsettias leading up the four steps, Christmas decorations and all. From inside, Baz can hear voices and that horrible Michael Bublé music and he considers turning around and leaving, except a ginger-haired woman opens the door. She’s strangely similar to Adriana, yet there’s something else about her that’s familiar.

She’s shorter and is wearing a wrap silver dress. Her long hair falls all the way to her waist.

Her smile is kind as she says, “Hello. You must be Adri’s friend, no?”

Baz nods and years of enforced politeness make him smile and extend the bottle towards her.

“That’d be correct, I’m Baz Pitch. I apologise for being late, but I hope this compensates it somehow,” Baz says, nice and polite.

“I’m Posie, nice to meet you, Baz,” he nods and extends his hand.

She smiles back, and when they shake hands, Baz feels it. There’s magic in her, a soft, brown sugar type of magic. He can tell when their eyes meet that she feels his, and she lifts an eyebrow.

He grins but refrains from making a comment. With young mages, it’s easy like this. You know who is one, smile at the knowledge and leave it at that.

“Come on in, it’s too cold, besides, everyone is going crazy over the appetizers. My roommate made them,” she tells him.

Baz thanks her, walks in and takes his coat off. He’s just made it to the sitting room when Adriana comes in, already shoving a vodka cocktail in his hand.

“I’m so happy you came. I was starting to worry you would stay home and watch Twilight for the hundredth time,” she says shaking her head.

“Afraid I already did that,” he replies, “Although I’m sure I could’ve fit New Moon in before midnight.”

She chuckles, and it feels good to see someone familiar during the winter break and for a second Baz is glad he came. The living room is packed, there are about twenty people, all busy drinking and shoving food into their mouths, dancing and from the looks of it, everyone is single but came with friends, which makes sense as to why he was invited. It’s only ten, and everyone looks a bit drunk, but he’s having a nice time.

Baz is sitting on a sofa in the corner with Adriana and Jack, another coworker, remembering every juicy gossip that happened in the office this year. They’re on their third drink and he’s had a cupcake and a couple of sausage rolls. He’s about to ask who is Posie’s roommate because they’re heavenly when he feels like he needs to have a wee or he’ll explode.

Baz is happy he can eat in front of everyone now. That’s probably one of the only good things he brought back from America. The knowledge he could control the vampire part of him.

He apologises and makes it down the hall to where Posie pointed him to, past two closed doors. 

He knocks and a quiet voice calls out, “Just a second,”

Baz thinks he’s gone mad because it’s eerily familiar, but he can’t quite place it. He pays no mind and rests against the wall in the semi-dark hallway, checking himself out in the full body mirror. His dark green button-down still looks good tucked into his dress pants, and his hair is loose, reaching under his chin. He even has enough blood in him to be slightly flushed. Frankly, he thinks he looks good.

He’s been getting better quality blood from the butcher’s, although he doesn’t feel as strong as he did when he tried human’s blood.

Well, he’s only had it once. Simon’s own blood. It’s the most exquisite thing he’s ever put in his mouth, even though he hates to think about the guilt he felt after, even when it was Simon himself who insisted and campaigned for it. 

The rich, buttery warm taste in his mouth, the feeling of being one with him is probably the hottest experience of his twenty-six years, and he has absolutely no idea to why his brain went there after years of not thinking about it.

Then, he thinks he must be hallucinating, as his dead heart jumps up and constricts his throat because when the bathroom door opens, it’s Simon himself who’s there.

He’s so fucking fit Baz wants to immolate himself. He’s still three inches shorter than him, but he’s gone broad around his shoulders, and like the buffoon he is, he’s wearing a white t-shirt, although it’s snowing outside. It showcases his mole dusted arms, all muscle and golden glory.

His black jeans aren’t properly fitted, but they make his hips and his thick legs look like Baz’s preferred place in the world. Well, the space between them, anyway.

“Holy fucking shit,” is the first thing Simons says to him after six years of their mouths not speaking.

Baz cocks his head to the side and thanks his years of practising looking bored as he keeps his face neutral.

“Simon Snow,” he says, and he’s stupid as he extends his hand towards him like he doesn’t know Simon well enough to know he’d never accept that.

“You’re mad,” Simon replies.

He walks the step between them and crushes Baz into a hug, wraps both arms tightly around his waist like he still owns him after all these years. At that moment, wrapping his arms around Simon’s shoulders feels like muscle memory. They hug each other the same way they did when they were barely adults. It feels familiar, like riding a bicycle for Baz. 

Except now Simon’s stubble brushes against Baz’s covered forearms and he wishes he wasn’t wearing this stupid shirt so he could feel it against his skin. He melts as soon as he smells him.

The scent he longed for on nights where he cried himself to sleep, slipping somewhere between pain and consciousness, wishing Simon was back in his arms is right here now, under his nose, and he controls himself enough not to bury his nose in Simon’s short curls. 

He doesn’t think Simon would mind, but it’d be too weird after so much time being strangers.

The hug doesn’t last long, two, three seconds, and then Simon slides apart, and leans back against the wall opposite Baz. He crosses his arms and looks up at Baz, smiling his big Chosen one grin. Baz wants to yell at him for breaking up with him all those years ago, he wants to scream in panic because he never thought he’d see him again, he wants to press Simon against the wall right here, outside of the loo and kiss him just to see if it’d be as good as he remembers it.

None of that happens. Instead, he stumbles over his words like an imbecile.

“Uh, I didn’t know-“ he starts.

Simon cuts him off.

“Me neither. I live here with Posie. I mean, not with _her,_ like, you know, we’re not together, but I’m her roommate,” he stumbles.

Simon still manages to outdo him in the jabbering department, and that makes the corner of Baz’s mouth curl up with a smile. The first thought that goes through his mind is that at least Simon’s not married like Baz thought he’d be at this point. Not that he thinks they could ever get back together.

“I work with her sister. I had no idea you knew her, at all,” Baz replies before pushing his own hair behind his ear. “You look really good. Erm, the food’s fantastic, too.”

Baz wants to thump his head against the wall because he’s supposed to be civil about this whole thing. Simon shrugs, in that infuriating, familiar way of his, except now Baz recognises it as a modest gesture. 

Simon nods, “Yeah. Glad you liked it. Uh, you are actually perfect. Fuck, I had forgotten how pretty you are in real life, to be honest,” he goes on, flushing and it's endearing. “I, uh, have seen your photos sometimes, from Penny’s phone, y’ know, accidentally and they don’t, they don’t really do you any justice,”

Baz wants to punch him, because how can he say those things calmly? He settles for cocking an eyebrow. 

“Snow-“ he warns.

Simon waves his hand, dismissing whatever he was going to say.

“S’fine, I’ll shut up now. It’s nice to see you, yeah? I’ll be here all night, if you um, wanna catch up,” he says, rushing like he wants to get out of there and leaves Baz in the hallway.

Baz takes what’s probably the most confusing piss of his life, and then texts Penelope that he’s losing his mind because she’s the only one who’d understand the magnitude of what’s happening.

She replies instantly.

10:32 p.m. Penelope Bunce: fuck oh god  
10:32 p.m. Penelope Bunce: you’re in his house right?  
10:32 p.m. Penelope Bunce: How do you feel?  
10:32 p.m. Penelope Bunce: !!!!!!

10:34 p.m. Baz Pitch: I want to throw up. Disappear.  
10:34 p.m. Baz Pitch: But I also want to talk to him.

10:35 p.m. Penelope Bunce: Go on, then  
10:35 p.m. Penelope Bunce: I’m just going to tell you he’s different  
10:35 p.m. Penelope Bunce: Don’t go looking for teenage Simon  
10:35 p.m. Penelope Bunce: :) 

Baz doesn’t know what she means with that, but he still texts her an emoji back. He knows Simon must be different, at least he’d hope so. He looks healthier, that’s certain. He finally comes out of the bathroom, tries to mingle for a bit but cuts back on the drinking. He definitely doesn’t want to end up a mess with Simon near him to witness it. He absolutely doesn’t tell Adri that his ex, the one he talks about all the time is right here. That’d be too humiliating.

He tries looking for Simon around the party, but he notices he stays in the kitchen taking things out of the oven or goes into his bedroom. At least that bit hasn’t changed. Simon still hates crowds. Their eyes meet a couple of times, but none of them try to talk to each other again.

The party is still going, but people have mellowed out, sitting in corners, talking and playing board games in small groups. Baz finds himself drawn to the kitchen with the mission of grabbing a beer. He’s just closing the fridge when he notices the picture in the outside of the freezer’s door. It’s stuck there with a red plastic magnet, next to photos of Posie and her friends.

It’s Penelope, and Simon and Baz himself, the three of them looking like they’re in deep conversation. Penelope is sitting alone in an armchair, right opposite Simon and Baz, who occupy the sofa, not really looking coupley, but sitting close together. He doesn’t know why this photo exists, but he knows it was taken in the old flat Bunce shared with Simon back then. 

He ghosts his fingers over it, thinking about those times. Shepard took it, he’s sure of it, but he still doesn’t remember the moment. It’s nice and surprisingly not painful to remember them like this, when all the family they had was each other. He wonders how long Simon has had it here. Out on display, for everyone to see.

He takes a long drag of his beer, closes his eyes. He can feel Simon behind him. Now that he knows he’s here, he’s gotten more in tune with his scent and the slow, steady pattern of his heartbeat. He thought he wouldn’t be able to recognise it after this long, but his brain seems to have a special place to store all things Simon.

“I, uh, I’m sorry. I should’ve taken it down,” Simon says from the doorway, his voice quiet, but Baz can hear it even over the hideous music.

Baz shakes his head, “It’s lovely. I can’t remember when-“ he tries before trailing off.

Simon walks into the kitchen and stands next to Baz, both looking at their past.

“It was somewhere around September, that year. We were deciding what to order for dinner. Well, that’s what Shep says,” he explains, chuckling at the end.

“Hmm,” Baz nods and looks at Simon. He feels the sparks, even after all these years. It feels like fire and coming home.

Simon meets his eyes now, and Baz loves how they’re intense, filled with emotion and plain at the same time. That shade of blue is still his favourite colour.

“Do you, wanna, um, go to my room?” Simon whispers, not breaking eye contact.

Baz lifts both eyebrows, “I’m not that easy, Snow,” he replies, trying to make his voice sound light. But he knows damn well he’d do it in a heartbeat, if Simon would have him. 

Simon shakes his head, “Of course not. That’s not what I meant, I meant to talk, you know, open a couple of beers, catch up,”

Baz nods, opens the fridge silently and steals the six-pack that’s already incomplete. 

“On we go, Snow,” he says, passing him the beers.

Simon’s eyes light up with his smile. He grabs a plate of sausage rolls and miniature fruit tarts on the way out and Baz is thankful for Simon’s insatiable appetite because both are scrumptious and he gets the feeling he'll need a couple more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I've never written in third person, ever! This is a little experiment born from an idea I just couldn't shake from my head. I hope you like it :)
> 
> If you did, feel free to leave a comment :) they really make my heart go all happy 🖤🖤
> 
> Lots of love,  
> MP


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Simon looks at him shamelessly, stares at the sharpness of Baz’s jaw and he wishes he could run his teeth over it. He meets grey eyes, and he feels the same pull in his stomach he felt all those years ago, back when they were kids, with the Crucible."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy 🖤

Simon’s bedroom is very different from what Baz expected. He's clearly grown into himself. There are still a few details from the messy boy Baz used to know, but you can tell this is now his safe space.

“Come on in,” Simon says, closing the door quietly behind him. He doesn’t lock it.

Baz walks a couple steps in, and he feels a bit like he’s somewhere he shouldn’t be. The room is what is considered big for being in London, with dark hardwood floors and a cream coloured rug near the bed.

His bed is tall and huge and looks soft, covered with a fluffy white quilt and a million pillows. On the side of the bed that’s against the wall, there’s a pile of laundry to be folded. That’s something Baz knows hasn’t changed. It’d take Simon for fucking ever to put his clothes away, most times he’d wear it again before it got the chance to return to his drawers.

Right across the bed, his window is wide and takes up almost half the wall, and it faces the street. It must be lovely to wake up in this room with all the natural light. Next to it, there’s a brown, lived in-looking armchair and a side table, complete with two empty mugs over it, dry tea bags still on them. 

Baz is still standing just behind the door watching Simon move around his natural habitat as he places the plate and the beers atop his dresser and proceeds to shut the window. The gesture surprises Baz a bit, but he’s really trying to rationalise it as Simon being cold himself, and not anything to do with Baz’s old fight to have the window closed back at Mummers.

Fighting with Simon about inconsequential things like that used to drive most of their interactions back at school, a way of expressing all their misplaced energy and hidden attraction and then, when they dated, it used to fuel a bit of their passion. They both thrived on intensity. It fed the flames just enough to make Simon want to jump Baz, and Baz... well, he’d go feral.

Baz almost feels tempted to bicker about something just now, but it feels like it wouldn’t go well. Like any forced insult would land weakly. So, he settles for watching Simon’s shoulders moving under his white shirt.

“Do you want me to close the blinds?” Simon asks from where he’s standing near the window.

“Sure, Snow, your call,” Baz replies, still watching him.

He closes them and plugs the Christmas lights that frame his window, giving the room a warm feel.

“Your room… it’s lovely,” Baz says, still unable to move.

Simon shrugs again, walks around Baz and flicks on the lamp on his nightstand. They haven’t switched the lights on, but it’s enough like this. Not too bright, comfortably dark.

“Come on, you can sit anywhere,” Simon tries, and this time Baz walks all the way to the window, trying to put some distance between them and plops down as gracefully as possible in the armchair. It’s deliciously plush.

Baz drinks the room in as Simon grabs a beer and starts fumbling with the cap. He thinks about Simon, the full grown-man, the Chosen One and then trauma survivor, spending Sunday nights in his armchair, drinking tea and going through his phone, playing video games, people watching...knowing he’s got somewhere cosy to rest after all those care homes and stiff beds, it makes his heart ache in a good way.

The closet space is small, but Simon has never had many clothes, anyway. There is no desk, just a TV that faces his bed, complete with a video game console under it, atop a table. There are a couple of pictures on his side table.

Simon and Penelope at her graduation. He wishes he had been there, but he did visit her a couple of days later. She didn’t mind that he had missed it.

Simon in a kitchen, laughing with two other guys. It’s an industrial kitchen, and Simon’s wearing the whole chef outfit, and it makes Baz immensely sad to realise that this is how he gets to find out what Simon does for a living. He had the idea because that’s the certification he enrolled in back then, but he wasn’t sure he’d completed it. He still wishes he’d been there to see him graduate.

His job fits him perfectly. He follows the sudden urge to tell him so.

“You’re a chef, that’s why these are fantastic,” Baz tells him as he reaches shamelessly for another fruit tart.

He closes his eyes as he lets the flavour of peaches and cream melt into his mouth. He loves it.

Simon chuckles, “Yeah, a pastry chef. I work at a bakery with two of my mates. We do everything from wedding cakes to your everyday croissant, it’s fun,”

Baz nods, takes a sip, “I imagine. Fits you so nicely, and you’re very good at it, from what I can tell,” he praises him. 

“Yeah. Early mornings, early nights. Spend a lot of time on my feet, helps me get rid of all that energy,” Simon tells him.

It feels just like it did back then when they did date, like they’re chatting normally about their day. He looks at Simon again, he’s sitting cross-legged on his bed, at a safe distance from Baz but facing him completely.

“Course. Plus, you get to take some of the goods home after, no?” Baz tells him jokingly, letting himself smirk at Simon.

“Guess so, yeah” he replies smiling.

They fall into easy conversation about Baz’s job, and although Simon already knows all of this from relentlessly asking Penny about it, he smiles at hearing him talk about his Normal job where he is a data analyst and spends all day looking at numbers, projecting and making plans, and then he smiles even wider knowing he’s sometimes invited to teach the occasional module at Watford.

He doesn’t care much about the fact that he’s returned there, but it makes him fuzzy all over to see him smile, really smile, talking about teaching Latin and spells. At one point, Baz gets even more excited, setting his beer on the side table, not before trying to make do a coaster with his napkin, when he talks about the music club he’s founded along with other teachers and eight-years students.

It helps keep students busy, out of trouble, to pick an instrument and learn the basics during their passage through Watford, plus it makes good use of all the tax money the Families had been forced to donate to the Coven blindly for years.

He’s certain the Headmaster’s chair is where Baz is headed. Simon’s always known.

He congratulates him, fills him with compliments and I knew's and I told you so’s until Baz stops him all flushed and laughing. 

Simon can’t help but think he did what was for the best for both of them six years ago, setting him free. Not because he was a burden for Baz, he understands that now, but because they both needed to find themselves like this, build lives that are happy and full and not dependent on each other. Hard to do when they essentially grew up together and clung to each other instead of trying to become individuals.

It’s the hardest thing he’s ever done, and he wishes he could make it up to Baz, erase all the pain he caused him, but he doesn’t regret it. He’s also certain of one thing: he never stopped loving Baz.

It stopped being painful after a while. Once that burning, consuming love he felt for him was covered by dust by the years and melancholy, it became easy to ignore. But it’s still there, simmering quietly in his heart, still warming him up from the inside.

Baz is quiet after that, mulling over Simon’s praise as he looks at him and opens another beer. He is also desperately thinking about how to make this last for longer. He never thought he’d relate to those “making a night last forever” lyrics until now. He wonders if it’d be too reckless to ask Simon for his number, ask him to lunch tomorrow.

He doesn’t even know if he’s single, and he’s already jumping at the thought of eating with him. Typical.

He looks like an angel, dressed in white with a halo of golden light behind him. He stretches, showy as ever, and Baz can see a bit of the dusting of hair on Simon’s lower belly, where he’s soft and warm, and he wants to kiss that trail. Kiss it up, kiss it down, doesn’t matter. He wants to die right there and then.

Simon looks at him shamelessly, stares at the sharpness of Baz’s jaw and he wishes he could run his teeth over it. He meets grey eyes, and he feels the same pull in his stomach he felt all those years ago, back when they were kids, with the Crucible.

He feels shy all of a sudden, so he grabs a black sweatshirt from his pile of clean laundry and pulls it over his head. He’s being ridiculous since Baz was his first after all, and he’s seen him naked, in much worse shape, in a million different angles, but he can’t help but feel self-conscious about his body when he is watching him like that.

He finally realises why Baz is staring. The wings and the tail. 

Baz must be curious about their absence, so he clears his throat, “I, uh, didn’t get them removed. I didn’t mind them, but they went away on their own,” he explains.

He sees Baz’s eyes widening, and he remembers how he used to love his wings, he could caress them, kiss them for hours if he let him.

“Er, how?” Baz asks and takes another drag of his beer. Crosses his legs effortlessly. He’s so graceful it makes Simon want to see him all wild and debauched like he used to get sometimes in bed. Knowing he was the only one to know him like that, pupils wide and fangs out only made it hotter for Simon. 

Simon scratches the back of his neck, “Um, once I got better at using my magic, I’d wish them away, but it didn’t happen until after _you_ had left.”

Baz nods, willing him to continue, but he wants to tell Simon _he_ was the one who left him.

Simon takes a long drag of his beer and Baz fears what’s coming because he kind of already knows from Penelope, but he wants to hear it from his own lips.

“The night after, um, the hotel. That Christmas, I was in the bathtub back at Penny’s, and this time I did wish them away for real, that last reminder of, you know, us, and it worked. It wasn’t that painful. The tail was much worse, though,” Simon recalls, his eyes focused on the Christmas lights, a faraway look on his beautiful face.

Baz feels like a monster as he thinks about Simon alone in that bathtub, so heartbroken that he wished a part of himself away. He rationally knows their breakup wasn’t his fault exclusively, but he hates not having been there for Simon on a moment like that.

But he also thinks about how for months he laid in the darkness of his bedroom crying, wishing Simon would show up at his door, asking him to try again. The insomnia was terrible too and it lasted for months. It was almost a year after that Baz was finally able to sleep for more than five hours straight.

“Simon…I don’t know what kind of apology I could give you to make you understand how sorry I feel,” Baz says, trying to meet blue eyes.

“S’alright, you didn’t do anything,” Simon replies, smiling at him, “Plus, the scars are cool. I’ve been told they’re mysterious and all,”

Baz shakes his head. He can’t believe Simon is not at least a bit mad at him for that.

“I’m so sorry. I really am, I wish I could have avoided that,” he tries again, and he hates the crack in his voice right at the end.

“I said it’s fine, I really don’t mind, they look fine,” he replies, toying with the edge of his sweatshirt.

Their eyes lock for a long second, and Baz finally understands this isn’t painful for Simon anymore, even if it tears his own heart apart to hear it confirmed now. Simon shifts a bit and clears his throat.

“Do you, um, wanna see them?” Simon asks, looking at him, all long lashes and pink cheeks.

Baz has absolutely no idea why Simon wants to show him, but he feels like this is somehow important for him, so he just nods, and walks a couple of steps until he’s near the bed and waits.

Simon turns away from him, still sitting and lifts the back of his sweatshirt pulling it as high as he can reach. He hunches into himself and Baz helps uncover the rest for him and holds it there, trying not to touch his bare skin, inspecting his tawny back with his eyes. Now, this is something he’d never, ever thought he’d see again.

He’s surprised to see the pattern of moles there. He thought he’d forgotten it completely, but it’s still engraved in his memory. He wishes he could trace it with his mouth.

The scars are much thinner than he’d expected. They’re long but very thin, almost unnoticeable. The scar tissue isn’t raised either, instead, it forms pink flat lines over his shoulder blades.

He decides he might as well try his luck.

“Can I touch?” he asks, trying to make his voice sound as gentle as he can.

He feels Simon shrugging and for a second he thinks he’s shoving him away, but then Simon speaks.

“You don’t have to ask, ever,” Simon tells him. His voice is tight, but he knows he’s telling the truth.

It breaks something in Baz to hear his own words echoed back at him, knowing Simon still trusts him like this, after all these years. He wants to cry, but he swallows the lump in this throat to avoid embarrassing himself.

“My hands are cold. Just so you know,” Baz warns him. He feels stupid, because of course Snow knows this, but he can’t help but think he’s forgotten it.

Simon chuckles, the vibration moving through Baz’s arm where he’s holding his sweatshirt. “Pitch, you’re mental. I know that. We lived together. For seven years.”

Baz snorts knowing fully that isn’t the reason why he’s well acquainted with his body temperature, but stills and goes in, holding his breath as he traces the scar on Simon’s right shoulder slowly. He can feel the skin turning into gooseflesh and he thinks it might be just the temperature, but he lets himself think that maybe, just maybe, it’s his touch.

He traces it back up, feeling the buttery skin under his thumb, and then switches sides.

“This…Simon, they’re beautiful,” he says and traces them again before continuing quietly, “You’re so beautiful, it’s absurd,” he tells him. He regrets it the second he says it, but it’s already out and he can’t take it back.

Not because it isn’t true, but because it's way too much.

Simon’s back is beautiful, the upper bit is toned, just like his arms thanks to all the physical work he does. Carrying heavy trays, lifting flour sacks, whisking, decorating, it’s all upper body work.

He loves his skin shade, the moles and the feel of his skin. Simon’s body is his favourite thing in the world. He touches him one last time, carefully, like he might break him. He can feel something is not right by the way Simon doesn’t reply and takes a deep breath. He rolls down Simon’s shirt gently, tugging it at the end.

He turns him around pulling on his shoulder gently, and Simon looks up at him, eyes a bit teary and soft.

“Sorry, um, I had, um,…dreamed about you touching me again for years,” he tells him so quietly only Baz could have heard it and goes on, “I’d forgotten how gentle you are,”

Baz nods and takes advantage of Simon telling him he doesn’t have to ask to place a quick kiss in the middle of his forehead and mumbles against his skin, “Me too, Simon. I’ve thought about feeling your skin for a very long time.”

For Simon, it doesn’t feel intrusive or foreign. It doesn’t make his stomach jump or his pulse race. To the contrary, it feels very warm and soft. Needed. He rubs Baz’s lower back while he hears what he’s saying against his skin, and then he lets go and crosses his legs again.

At that moment, Baz knows it’s also the absolute truth that he’s been longing for Simon’s touch for years.

Simon thinks about the men and women he’s slept with, their hands on his body, some of them gentler than Baz, many of them rougher, possessive, and he feels like crying, thinking about how only Baz touches him like he’s made of feathers. Admiringly, like every touch is borrowed.

He hates that he did that to them. Made Baz scared of touching him then. Still, the past is past and there isn’t much he can do about it. 

“Thanks for saying that. It’s sweet, no one had ever called them that,” Simon tells him, really trying to remember if anyone has. They’ve been called cool, yes. Interesting, yes. Sexy, yes. But never beautiful.

Baz takes a step back and nods.

“What a chat,” Baz says, smiling, eyes filled with melancholy “Were we always this intense?”

Simon chuckles, the soft moment long gone. “Yeah. More or less. Most of the time,”

Baz shakes his head, “No wonder it ended like that,”

“Yeah.” Simon shrugs and agrees, and then asks the question he’s been dying to ask, making his move while Baz is still open like this, “Did you, um, end up getting married?”

He hasn’t seen a ring, but maybe it’s below Baz to wear one.

Baz sits beside him in bed and leans down to pick his beer up from the floor. He takes a long swig and Simon knows the bastard is just doing it to add some suspense.

He shakes his head slowly, shows him his left hand, “No. To Fiona’s dismay, I’m still very much single,”

Simon raises both eyebrows and clicks his tongue once, then bites into a sausage roll, chewing slowly, savouring the pastry. He takes another bite before replying, trying to add some suspense too.

“Ditto, Basil,” is all he says.

Baz looks at him, grinning like the devil himself, “Big word there, Snow. Nice to know you’ve been reading the dictionary,”

Simon rolls his eyes at the jab, “You’re such a fucking prick,” he replies, not a drop of malice in his voice.

The banter is too familiar and both of them find themselves laughing together for the first time in years. It feels like coming home after a long trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I’m back with another chapter!! I’ll try to do one or two updates a week since these are short, but I really do hope you are enjoying this story! If you are, feel free to drop a comment (psst. they make me very very happy.) 🖤 🖤
> 
> Lots of love,
> 
> MP


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The wanting, this all-consuming feeling that he might die if he doesn’t know where Baz is, that’s something familiar. A friend he hasn’t visited in a very long time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes yes I do realise this is v dramatic I'M SORRY 🖤 enjoy!!

##### Baz 

Baz drops his head heavily against the steering wheel as he hears the engine finally going silent. He has a strong compulsion to start his car again and drive it straight into the Thames.

It’s half past one in the morning, and he’s just parked outside his flat, unharmed and mostly sober, and all he wants to do is scream. He regrets the way things went sour with Simon very quickly during their very much needed but unexpected reunion.

He closes his eyes, willing his breathing to slow down. He tells himself it’s fine. It’s completely fine. It’s been years since they were a thing, and he has repeatedly affirmed to himself and to his friends that he’s completely over Snow. So, why is his heart still beating as fast as its undeadness allows, practically hammering into his chest at the hope of something?

They’d been laughing for a bit, talking about Penelope and her upcoming wedding, and it felt like he’d walked into some sort of breakable heaven he’d like to live in forever. 

Then, tragedy struck. He heard it coming first. With his supernatural hearing and all, he heard the countdown begin. He wanted to roll his eyes as his brain scrambled for any possibility of making things less awkward.

When they were down to hearing the party outside scream ‘five’, he met Simon’s eyes. He was all flushed, his eyes a bit droopy after a couple of beers. It’d be so easy to kiss him, but Baz hated to kiss first.

Maybe it was a habit he’d acquired from his first kiss with Simon himself, but he was always too afraid to go for it first.

Simon stared back, a slow smile spreading through his pretty mouth. Baz watched as he brought his beer to his lips, took a long swig as he finished it off and set it on the nightstand. 

_three_

Baz has no idea why he thought he would kiss him, but he turned in his seat, facing a giggling Simon completely.

_two_

Simon leaned in a bit, not quite yet invading his personal space, but enough for Baz to smell his brown sugar scent sharply, and will his brain to commit it to memory.

_one_

As the party outside the wooden door roared with screaming and the sound of fireworks filled his ears, Simon had simply leaned in, lips almost touching Baz’s face, more towards his cheek than towards his mouth, but Baz thought that could be easily corrected, so he closed his eyes and waited, while Simon had simply whispered, “Happy New Year, Baz.”

“Happy-“ Baz had tried before being interrupted by a kiss to his cheek.

The menace had the indecency to place both hand’s on Baz’s cheeks and plant an innocent kiss near his mouth. Not quite on its corner, but close enough to make his pale skin tingle. He didn’t respond much except for feeling his entire face flush and willing his hands to stay put where they were folded on his lap.

“Happy New Year, Snow,” Baz tried again, this time successfully.

Simon dropped both hands from his face and leaned back against his bedpost, like the whole exchange didn’t pull the rug out from under Baz’s feet. Maybe it was arrogance on his part, but he had been reading Simon throughout their whole exchange and he thought he might be interested in him again. At the very least he acted like he was really attracted to him, so he’d sort of hoped for a kiss, just to pay tribute to the good old times.

He’d give half of his state to relive the whole burning forest scene they lived back then when they both were broken boys who had no clue about their future. Instead, he got a giggly Simon and a friendly kiss. Which was completely okay, but he couldn’t help but feel disappointment and a little bit of shame for assuming Simon would want him like that again.

It’d been wrong for him to assume that and he felt terrible about it, so disgusted with himself to realise he had acted like was entitled to it. He felt gross, so much so that he only waited for the outside bumble of the party to die a little before excusing himself and telling Simon he had to leave.

He’d lifted himself from the bed with as much dignity as he could muster and turned back to face Simon.

“I probably should go, erm, tomorrow I’ve got to drive to Hampshire,” Baz said, looking at the cream-coloured rug under his feet and not really at the half-pissed Simon that was still resting against his bedpost.

Simon clicked his tongue once. 

“Uh, is that so?” he asked, looking at him from under his blonde lashes, “You don’t wanna keep me company for a bit longer?” 

He held Baz’s gaze, using the height difference to his favour now that he was still sitting to give him an innocent look. Alcohol always made Simon saucy. Baz wanted to annihilate him.

Instead, he snorted, “You’re drunk, Snow. You don’t mean it,”

“I'm not lying,” Simon replied looking away.

Baz rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

Simon shook his head again and lifted one of his freckled hands to scratch at the back of his neck. He threw his head back in a typical, overdramatic Simon Snow yawn, and Baz could perfectly see the thin scars from where he’d bitten him all those years ago. 

His stomach dropped to his feet the second he recognised them, and he felt a mixture of disgust and possessiveness at the sight. He still hated to think about the fact that he had actually done it, even if it was only because Simon asked and asked relentlessly until Baz gave in. Six years later, he still bore the puncture scars from Baz’s own fangs, no one else's.

The whole thing had been a mess, quick and incredibly hot for both, they’d lost control in a way they forgot about casting a healing spell fast enough for the scars not to settle. When Baz did it the day after, it was way too late. The tissue had already settled that way, and it’d take an experienced healer to try and get them properly healed. Simon straight up refused, reminded Baz of the risks of doing so. Besides, he didn’t mind at all. He loved them.

It was the first physical and permanent reminder he’d have from Baz. To prove he was real, and not some mucked up fantasy from his brain. It’d take months for him to realise it’d also be the only reminder of Baz he’d have with him, forever. 

Baz wanted to trace them with his lips. To try and kiss them away, like he’d done hundreds of times before. Instead, he turned towards the door but was stopped by Simon’s voice.

“Can I, uh, have your number? Just, y’know, in case,” Simon asked, headfirst and stupidly brave as ever.

Begrudgingly, he’d punched his number into Simon’s cracked phone and prayed he’d just let him leave and never contact him again.

After a bit of contemplating in his car, he finally climbs up the stairs to his flat, trying to accept that not every fantastic reencounter with your ex-childhood roommate turned ex-boyfriend has to end in a second chance. Besides, he knows damn well every reason why they didn’t work out.

With his head filled with these thoughts, it takes Baz a while to fall asleep, and when he does, he dreams of bronze curls and soft lips on his skin.

##### Simon 

Before deciding, he spends a good three days looking at Baz’s contact picture on his mobile. He’s trying very hard not to text him, to respect the boundaries that have been set between them, but he also can’t help but feel hopeful.

It’s been so long since they tried, and they’ve both changed and grown into complete individuals, it almost feels like being introduced to someone new. 

Except its someone your heart already knows completely. It feels just like that for Simon. Like underneath the whole proper and busy businessman thing Baz has going on from his job and all his scarce social media posts, there’s the boy he knew. 

The heart that once was his, the heart he’s known for a lifetime now. It’s definitely not enough to bring them together, he realises, but trying is something he simply can’t get out of his brain. 

It was torture for him not to kiss him then in the dark of his room. Between the drinks and their not-so-subtle looks, he decided Baz deserved a better situation, at least for their first kiss in years.

The whole kissing passionately while Baz was in a strop in the middle of the flames thing, they’d already done. He wanted their _second_ first kiss to be meaningful and soft, if it ever happened. He didn’t want Baz to think it’d be just a one-night stand or a simple souvenir from what they once shared.

Knowing Baz as a friend and intimately was very different from getting the whole romantic phase they always seemed to speed through, and if this is going to lead somewhere, Simon wants to do it right. He wants the whole dating phase they never got when they were young, and he craves it more than anything he’s wanted in the last few years.

The wanting, this all-consuming feeling that he might die if he doesn’t know where Baz is, that’s something familiar. A friend he hasn’t visited in a very long time.

He takes a deep breath as he finishes his tea and drops the paper cup on the bin. He pulls his mobile out. He frankly doesn’t care about using the cheapest excuse in the world to talk to him, so he does it.

##### Baz 

The first text comes in four days later. It’s a typical Wednesday, and he’s just splurged on ordering some lunch to his office. He’s just barely closing the app when his phone pings four times in a row.

He thinks it’s a client that’s been given his personal number and not his work one like it sometimes happens, but when he opens the chat, he almost drops his phone face down on the floor.

 _13:21 020 7946 6161:_ hello  
_13:21 020 7946 6161:_ it’s Simon  
_13:21 020 7946 6161:_ you left ur scarf here  
_13:21 020 7946 6161:_ image

Baz rolls his eyes. He didn’t wear a scarf to that party, and he definitely doesn’t recognise the horrible pattern that’s shown in the one in the picture. He saves his number anyway.

 _13:24 Baz Pitch:_ It’s definitely not mine. Thanks for asking, though.

The reply comes instantly.

 _13:25 Simon Snow:_ sorry, Posie’s been making me ask everyone

He ignores that text, locks his phone and opens his spreadsheet again, ready to carry on working until his lunch is delivered.

Not even a minute later, it pings again.

 _13:25 Simon Snow:_ what are you up to, anyway?

Baz can’t help the grin that spreads across his face when he reads it. When he lifts his gaze, Adriana is watching him, one eyebrow raised, mirroring his own gestures. He quickly switches his deer caught in headlights expression for a withering look. She smiles at him and spins her chair around, getting back to work.

That’s how they both act when they’re caught being mushy, and it gives them something to laugh at when they’re a couple of pints in on Friday nights.

Once he’s home after work, late into the evening, he texts back, pretending he was too caught up with work to notice Simon had texted him again. He waits awake for a bit just in case he gets a reply.

Baz can be impatient and needy and he hates himself for it, especially because he shouldn’t even be thinking about texting Simon at all. 

He feels like he’s walking very carefully on a cliffside. He's certain he can walk back to safety and away from the danger whenever he wants to, but for some reason, he’s not ready to do so yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello 🖤🖤🖤 I'm back with another chapter!! Hope you enjoy it, thank you so much for reading this fic, feel free to leave a comment!! (they make this coffee-fueled, sleep-deprived woman very happy!) 🖤 
> 
> lots of love, MP


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Simon sleeping peacefully with his fairy lights on, staying out of trouble in his gigantic bed, the one he’ll probably never get to lie in. His heart aches as his brain reminds him about how maybe he just completely ruined his chances with him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *posts chapter and throws phone into the void*
> 
> MORE DRAMA YES YES plus a lil date🖤🖤🖤 THANKS for reading

Baz closes his eyes, tries to let himself melt into the kiss. It’s heated and sloppy. He feels his back hit the bathroom door as he opens his mouth to let his insistent tongue slip into his mouth. He tastes like vodka and cranberry juice. He’s not a particularly great kisser, but he’ll do. 

He feels overly small hands roaming down his chest and then grabbing his waist through his shirt. It feels all wrong. He hears the other man groaning, and he feels disgusted with himself. He tries to respond with the same intensity, but he just can’t get into it. 

There’s something about the way this bloke is touching him that’s making him regret allowing him to chat him up. Something about it doesn’t feel like anything else than somebody groping him as his brain thinks about bronze curls and moles and the possibility of expert kisses. 

The stranger lowers his hand, start pulling on his belt buckle as he shoves a thigh between Baz’s. He feels too overwhelmed, and his skin is getting clammy. This isn’t hot, this isn’t anything more than a meaningless snog.

Baz feels empty, used. He doesn't want this anymore when the prospect of something real exists now. He hates himself for thinking this is what he wanted at all when he left home a couple of hours earlier. 

It’s obvious he’d been foolish. Why did he think someone else would cut it now that the slightest possibility of being with Snow, _his_ Simon Snow, has returned to existence?

He tilts his head back, breaking the kiss and gasping for air as he places both hands on the stranger’s shoulders. _Jack? Joe?_ He can’t even remember his name.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he says against his skin as he starts mouthing at his neck desperately, “Your skin, love this-”

Baz squirms, pushes him away firmly, "Sorry. I need to go. Fuck, I’m sorry,” he tells him truthfully and turns away, pulling the door open. He doesn’t bother to look back.

He signals to Dev he’s leaving the bar, gets in his car and drives home, fighting back the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. He tries to chalk up how sentimental he feels to his drunkenness, but deep down all he can think about is Simon.

Simon sleeping peacefully with his fairy lights on, staying out of trouble in his gigantic bed, the one he’ll probably never get to lie in. His heart aches as his brain reminds him about how maybe he just completely ruined his chances with him.

He doesn’t do hookups often, but somehow he thought tonight would be an opportunity to prove to himself he could leave things with Simon before they've even started, as if getting rid of horniness would automatically erase the feelings that have lived in him since well, forever.

-  
An hour later, Baz feels completely insane as he pulls up outside Simon’s building at three in the morning exactly fourteen days after his reencounter with him. He feels disgusting, still wearing the clothes he went out in hours ago, when he spots him climbing out of his front door, hair damp from his shower and a black peacoat thrown over his uniform.

He never thought he’d be here, picking him up on what’s something between a late night and an early morning, but he’s been going mad with wanting to see him again. Baz was just arriving home after his night out with Dev and Niall, when Simon texted him ‘good morning’, a clear announcement he was awake for the day and mentioned he was about to eat something before heading to work.

Baz stood in his dark kitchen, overwhelmed with longing for Simon’s presence and downed a full glass of water as he contemplated his text for a second. He followed his gut and simply replied, “let me get you some breakfast.” 

Maybe he was feeling brave from all the wine he had at Dev’s party, or maybe he was just following an impulse, but it all worked out because Simon didn’t ask a single question. He texted back a simple okay and told him he was ready to go, then.

Baz put his coat back on and rushed to his car. 

It’s the first time they’re seeing each other now that they’ve been talking for a few days. Although saying they talk a lot would be exaggerating. It’s difficult for them to maintain a long conversation, not because they don’t have anything to say, but because they’re both very busy. Their jobs are demanding and keep them away from their phones for long periods, plus Baz sometimes ignores Simon’s texts when he feels like things are getting too intense.

Then comes the most important factor: their schedules are terribly different.

Simon’s job starts at five in the morning most days, and his hands are busy most of the time, so he rarely checks his phone. Throughout their daily exchanges, Baz has learned most of Simon’s routine. For example, he goes to bed ridiculously early.

When Baz is just arriving home, somewhere between eight and nine, and he’s all cold and tired, and dreaming of a plate of warm food, Simon’s already tucked in bed, ready to text him good night. 

Not that he lets himself think too much about the implications of them texting each other good morning and good night like they’re dating. He distinctly remembers they didn’t even do this during the time they were a couple.

Yet, he can seem to have it in himself to let the conversation die or block him. That’s why when his brain delivered him this idea, he decided to just go with it.

He tucks his hair behind his ears, trying to tame it as discretely as possible. Simon climbs into his car like it’s a common occurrence for them to meet at weird hours. Like it’s common for them to see each other, full stop. He drops his backpack over his feet and turns in his seat.

“Morning,” he says, smiling at Baz, “You look nice.”

Baz flushes as much as his body allows him and waves him away, “You’re insane Snow, I can’t believe you have all this energy at this ungodly hour,” he says.

“Part of the job,” he replies and drops his phone in the cupholder. He gives him a once over and raises an eyebrow, “I’m guessing this is more of a drunk takeaway for you, yeah?”

Baz nods, feeling incredibly mortified and hums, “Mm, perhaps,” he takes a look at Snow, all dressed for work and feels guilty for what happened an hour ago, so he drums his fingers on the steering wheel and looks away, “What do you fancy?”

Simon shrugs, “Anything, really. I was about to have some toast, so anything is fine,” he tells him.

Baz pulls the car into drive and gives him one more look, “I know a spot,” he tells him through his grin.

Simon takes a huge bite from his beans and closes his eyes dramatically as he enjoys this posh fry-up Baz insisted he had to try. He must give it to him, it’s delicious. The restaurant is, according to Baz, famous for its 24-hour breakfast.

The truth is, Simon is loving this moment. He usually eats a lot before work to keep himself going, but he always makes something at home. Being social before work is a first for him. He never has breakfast with anyone during the workweek for obvious reasons. Even when he’s woken up in a stranger’s house after a rough night out, he simply heads out before they’re fully awake. 

However, he’s happy he’s here with Baz, sitting in a dimly lit booth in a posh 24-hour spot. He isn’t sure if they’re on a date, but when Baz invited him, he felt his heart jump to his throat. He wasn’t sure he was ready to see him again, but then again, he was dying to talk to him in person, even if it’s during a very weird time and over some greasy breakfast.

He watches Baz tuck in hungrily into his sausage and mash, and he smiles when he notices he can eat in public now. He takes a sip of his black tea and stares at him dreamily. 

Baz stares back, tilts his chin back in a very familiar challenging move and lifts an eyebrow, “What?”

“It’s just- I hadn’t seen you have breakfast in ages,” Simon tells him, “probably since Watford. We obviously didn’t use to sit together then, but I used to watch you all the time.” 

Baz rests his chin on his hand slowly, smiling like the cat that ate the canary. He knows it’s true because during the time they were together, Simon wasn’t well, so he rarely ate with them, and then he was much better, Baz always at Uni, so these types of meals were impossible.

“And? Missed the view?” he asks quietly.

Simon drops his fork on his plate with a loud clatter and nods earnestly, “Of course I did. You know I did,” he tells him sincerely.

Baz tuts and takes a sip of his water.

“Well, luckily for you, I happened to miss seeing your atrocious manners. I’m sure more early fry ups can be arranged,” he replies.

Simon is on cloud nine. It’s a perfect start to his Saturday, really. 

After they’re done eating, they order a couple of black coffees. Baz glances at his wristwatch and then at Simon.

“How long do we have? It’s only four,” he informs.

Simon looks down and clicks on the home button on his phone. He bites his lip as does the math in his head. They’re only a couple of stations away from the one he usually gets off at. 

“Are you tired? D’you wanna go home now?” he asks, shoving his phone in his pocket, “I clock in at five. I’ll have to leave early to catch the tube, though,”

“I’ll drive you, Snow,” Baz tells him calmly, although he’s dying for Simon to agree so they can spend a bit longer together.

“No way, you’ve already gotten us a nice breakfast. You should go to bed, you’ve been awake for almost a day now,” Simon argues.

Baz rolls his eyes. For a second, he feels like a petulant teenager again. It annoys him that Simon doesn’t believe he’d do absolutely anything in the world to be next to him, even if it’s only for a moment. The way he worries about his sleep makes his chest ache. He loves him.

“I wasn’t asking you. I _am_ driving you to work,” he tells him, his voice firmer this time. 

“Fine,” Simon replies and narrows his eyes. He leans against the window, nestling himself comfortably against his corner of the booth. “I, uh, actually wanted to talk to you about something,”

Baz perks up immediately, leans forward in his seat and rests both elbows on the table.

“Tell me,” Baz inquires, all playfulness gone from his voice.

A million ideas run through his head. He can’t help but think that this is how Simon tells him he’s dating someone else. That he’s only trying to rekindle their broken friendship for the sake of the Crucible or Penelope’s upcoming wedding.

He's definitely not expecting what comes out of Simon’s mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO!! Short update today, BUT I have another one ready for Wednesday. I'm super proud of the next chapter. I put a ton of work into it, but it was way too long so I split it in two. This is the first bit.
> 
> Hope everyone who celebrates Thanksgiving had a great one.
> 
> Thank you for reading!! Feel free to leave a comment if you like this (they make me so so happy!!) 
> 
> Ps. sorry for the cliffhanger 🖤🖤🖤
> 
> LOVE, MP


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Baz stares at his back, taking in every detail down to the crease of his trousers. He waits until the shop’s glass doors are shut and there’s no one in sight. Simon’s thoughtfulness makes his heart ache – he’s really the only one he’s ever really loved. The only one he’ll ever love, he’s sure of it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF ENJOY🖤🖤

“Do you remember, uh, back when we were at Watford, the time I broke your nose?” he asks shyly, hiding behind his coffee cup.

Baz shakes his head and smirks, remembering those years fondly.

“Do you think it’d be easy to forget?” he replies, shooting him a dirty look, but there’s no malice behind his voice.

Simon rubs at the back of his neck nervously and stares somewhere behind Baz, as he contemplates telling him the truth.

“D’you remember we were doing that thing with the fountain, uh, of destiny?” he asks quietly. There’s no one around, but there’s no harm in being careful.

Baz nods. He remembers it clearly. It’s a Fifth-year privilege. A reward every Watford student gets after final exams, a prize for reaching Sixth year. 

They get to dunk their heads once in it, and according to the legend, they get to see what one day would be one of the happiest moments of their future life. It didn’t come with an exact date, range of when, or even a warning, but what it showed you was meant to happen sometime before your death.

Before their turn, they’d practise an unlocking spell, so the memory could only be accessed when casting it. This was implemented a long time ago. Some mages would obsess over what they saw and try to change their destiny, or replay it in a loop in their heads until they lost all sense of reality. 

The fountain has existed for as long as Watford has stood. Students don’t get to know about this ritual until they’re of age, though. This helps prevent them from trying to access it before the right moment. 

It was a curious experience to submerge their heads in the water and not get wet, but instead, be transported into some sort of future universe. It had been confirmed by older mages that the exact scene you saw came to you at some point, every single detail identical to what you saw in your vision, down to the clothes you were wearing and the time on the clock.

Simon had been incredibly excited because, well, he never saw himself living past eighteen. He saw it as his only chance to see the golden destiny he vaguely saw in his head whenever someone would ask about it. 

He’d simply have to close his eyes and submerge his head in the water, and he’d see something he couldn’t even imagine, but back then, he thought it would give him something to live for. Maybe a golden-haired wife, and a house somewhere with a crying baby in the background would give him a sense of belonging.

Baz’s voice snaps him back to the present. 

“You somehow thought I had messed with it and ruined your opportunity, Snow. Just to be clear: I wasn’t, still am not, powerful enough to fuck with an antique magickal artefact,” Baz tells him, and this time he’s serious. 

He wants Simon to know he’d never take something that important from him.

Simon shushes him.

“I know that. It’s just- what I saw…it didn’t make sense to a teenage version of me,” he confesses, his whole face flushing, “I, uh, saw myself with you.”

Simon smiles at the memory of it. What once was the most repulsive image in his head is now something he’s dreaming about. He’s certain the moment it happens, it’ll definitely be one of the happiest moments of his life.

Baz drops his chin on his hand and nods, willing him to continue.

“And uh, a couple of days ago, I used the spell to look at it for the first time since then, and I wrote some of it down. I dunno why I wanted to tell you this, I know we’re not together _yet_ , but I felt like I had to do it,” Simon says, rushing as his hands toy with a packet of sugar.

Baz waits for a bit, lets him stew. The confident usage of the word yet pulls at Baz’s heartstrings, makes him wonder why Simon is so sure that’s where they’re headed.

“Tell me what you saw, Simon. I want to know it all.” Baz responds.  
-

“Wait here, yeah?” Simon tells him before he closes the car’s door.

Baz has no idea why he’s asked him to wait but he uses this opportunity to check on his phone. He finds loads of work of emails and a couple of texts from Dev asking him if he got home safe.

He’s thankful it’s just five and he doesn’t have to work until noon. The heaviness of a long night out and the crisp morning air finally getting to him. He can’t wait to get into bed. He’s not sure he’ll be able to sleep, but he can work from there. That’s one of his favourite perks from his job. On Saturdays, he gets to work from home and starts at around eleven. It’s a lifesaver on days like this where he stays out all night.

He’s just done replying to his cousin’s texts when Simon knocks on his window softly. He’s smiling like a giant Labrador. It’s adorable. 

He rolls down the window, “What-“ he starts, but he gets cut off by Simon shoving a white paper bag at him. It’s warm.

“Here, croissants for later. They just came out of the oven,” Simon tells him.

“I-Snow,” he tries. He’s getting choked up, so he clears his throat and tries again, “Thank you. I- you’re the best.”

Simon grins at him cheekily and leans away from the car. The smell of butter makes Baz’s stomach grumble although he just ate copious amounts of food. 

“See you around, yeah?” he says before turning away, not giving him a chance to reply.

Baz stares at his back, taking in every detail down to the crease of his trousers. He waits until the shop’s glass doors are shut and there’s no one in sight. Simon’s thoughtfulness makes his heart ache – he’s really the only one he’s ever really loved. The only one he’ll ever love, he’s sure of it.

-  
Once Baz is home, he takes a quick shower, closes his eyes as he washes the night away. He tries to scrub the sensation of being touched by someone else from his skin.

It was only a kiss, but it _was._ He’s never felt like this about a drunken snog. 

He’s learned to enjoy hookups for what they are. Baz has always found kissing lovely, the feeling of intimacy with someone, even when it’s just a fit stranger and there’s absolutely no connection to his heart, he still likes the way he always feels his body coming alive when he’s being touched, everything enhanced by desire and alcohol.

This time, though, the whole thing felt mechanic, gross. Like having a stranger slobber all over his face and grope him senselessly. There was no substance, nothing enticing or erotic about it. 

He’s happy he broke it off and slipped away when he did.

He feels a bit ridiculous for having these thoughts. Simon hasn’t even kissed him, but the simple idea of having a future with him, of feeling him slowly reenter his life and his plans takes away the thrill of anything that’s not meaningful.

Baz doesn’t even know why he did it. It’s got nothing to do with the fact that Simon didn’t kiss him on New Year’s Eve and everything to do with his habit of snogging drunkenly strangers to feel desired, connected.

They haven’t even established their intentions clearly, yet he feels like he somehow cheated on him. Especially when he thinks about how he’d feel if Snow told him he’d just snogged someone when he got in his car.

He’d be livid. Jealous. Disappointed and a little bit heartbroken. 

He doesn’t want to mess up his shot at whatever this is with Simon by telling him, but he decides on doing it the next time he sees him, anyway.

Once he’s scrubbed clean, skin red from the warmth of the shower, he lies down on his sofa, tucks himself under the thick sofa’s throw and stares at the ceiling.

Simon’s vision of the future was sweet and disgustingly domestic, and he knows a younger version of himself would’ve laughed if he had heard the whole thing back then, but now it seemed like an actual fantasy.

_Simon and him, sitting in foldable chairs in their empty sunroom, bickering over paint samples, trying to pick two colours for their new kitchen. Another set of colours for redoing their guest room. A bloody guest room in the house they’ve just bought._

_Both of them wearing thick jumpers, sipping on Starbucks, Simon’s arms around his body and his chin on his shoulder. Simon snogging him quiet when he’d started getting too excited over the theory of colour and harmony and why their mirror can’t face the bed._

_A fantasy. A dream._

He thinks about that day during the end of Fifth Year. After a year of being followed by Simon, having a year-long crisis over his vampirism, the cherry on top was his vision of the future. He’d been so angry about what he saw, about the cruelty of his own brain that he blocked it out and decided not to think about it ever again.

He can’t remember much of it without the unlocking spell anyway, but from what he remembers, he was certain was a product of his infatuation and not the truth, so he simply dismissed the artefact as defective.

There’s no way he’d ever get that outcome, no matter what he did in life, and yet, ten years later, there was a slim chance of it becoming real. It’d take a lot of work, but it could happen.

What makes him scared of reliving it is that he knows it’s is a magickal memory, so it comes laced with the perspective of the time he first experienced it in. He knows when he watches it, he’ll relive those ridiculous teenage emotions and thoughts. The angst. The hopelessness, the drama…he tries not to go there in his head often.

For the first time since he learned this spell, Baz pulls his wand from his sleeve and casts **drowned in living waters.**

He closes his eyes, and lets himself unlock the memory, get lost in it, and even now, in the quiet of his living room, he finds it so embarrassing that he feels his face getting hot.

_He opens his eyes, feeling the sensation of water around his head, but ignoring it for the sake of getting a glimpse into his future._

_In it, he sees an older version of himself, hair loose, still pitch black and thankfully not as scarce as he thought it’d get when he ages. He wants to punch himself for embarrassing him by wearing khaki shorts in public, combined with a black v-neck and white converse. Is his fashion sense a price he must pay for ageing?_

_Older Baz holds onto the freckle covered hand extended to him, intertwining their hands together. When he does, an older version of Simon smiles at him from behind his sunglasses. He looks gorgeous as ever. His handsome face has aged, lines have settled artfully around the corners of his eyes. He wants to kiss them. Overall, the version of Simon he’s seeing fumble around with some sort of ticket with one hand looks mature, confident._

_His curls are shorter than they were at Watford, the bridge of his nose and his cheeks are sunburned, pink and completely adorable. His back is much wider than he’s ever seen it. On it, he’s carrying a black canvas backpack that looks about one second away from exploding._

_He thinks about nagging Simon for not using a spell to fit things properly._

_Sixteen-year-old-Baz reckons he’s never had a thing for older men, but now that he’s seeing Simon like this, he can’t help but think he wouldn’t mind being under an older version of him too._

_They’re outside a hotel somewhere. Baz imagines it must be a beach town by their ridiculous attire and the cobblestone under their feet. Plus the air stinks of salt, and there’s all sorts of palm trees and flowers in beautifully manicured bushes around them, as well as the chirping of birds filling his ears._

_It’s scorching hot outside, and future Baz frankly looks like he regrets coming somewhere so tropical for this weird holiday. He takes a sip of his coconut water, a fruitless attempt on staying hydrated._

_Seriously, a beach vacation? How immensely mundane._

_“Come on, darling, we’ll miss the van,” Simon tells him like it’s normal for them to talk to each other this way._

_Older Baz rolls his eyes at Simon, looks at his wristwatch and raises an eyebrow, “Love, we’ve still got fifteen minutes,” he informs him coolly._

_Simon shrugs, and suddenly gasps like he’s just remembered something. He lets go of Baz’s hand and fishes around in one of the pockets of his backpack._

_“Uh, I forgot, about them,” he tells Baz as he pulls out two matching rings, grabs Baz’s left hand lovingly and slides it on his fourth finger. He puts his own on right after, “Yesterday, you left it in the bathroom before we went swimming. I put them away, just in case.”_

_Teenage Baz wants to scream when he sees the rings. This surely can’t be true. How deranged can his brain be to fuck up his only shot at seeing the future? He’s livid his mind provided him with this and not something real._

_He can’t help but let morbid curiosity keep him watching anyway._

_Older Baz smiles, grabs onto Simon’s hand again, “Promise we’ll get them resized soon,”_

_Simon smiles and invades Baz’s personal space, clinging to his arm. Just like that._

_“Darling, it’s been four years, I don’t really think it’s going to happen, yeah?” he tells his husband and leans up to kiss the corner of his mouth. Baz returns the gesture by pecking him on the lips._

_Young Baz also wants to understand how this weird, fantasy version of himself got to marry the man he’s dreamed about for his whole life, and now that he’s got him, he’s a slob about it and does careless things like leaving his ring forgotten in hotel bathrooms._

_“Do you want some dessert, Snow?” he asks him, nodding his head towards the ice cream shop behind them, right next to the hotel doors._

_Simon nods and removes his sunglasses, “Yeah. Let’s see if it’s good. Maybe I can find some inspiration for a recipe too,” he replies and pulls Baz into the shop._

_Since when did Snow become a snob about food?_

_Baz doesn’t follow them inside, instead, he stays on the other side of the glass doors, observing them quietly. He looks at the signs on the shop and notices they’re in Spanish. This gets more and more absurd with every passing second. He sighs._

_He gets a glimpse of his reflection. He looks ridiculous in his school uniform, boater hat and all, standing there like a lunatic in the middle of fucking nowhere. Thankfully, no one can actually see him._

_He focuses on them again, completely entranced as he watches them interact casually._

_Simon places a hand on the small of Baz’s back while he orders and looks at him like he hung the moon. Once the girl behind the counter starts scooping the ice cream, his older self lifts his pale hand to Simon’s face, teases the golden stubble there._

_He sees their matching cards once they bicker about who’s going to pay. He sees the way they seem to interact with each other like they’re the only ones in the room even though the shop is packed._

_Once they’re back outside, Snow gives his ice cream what can only be described as a pornographic lick, keeping his blue eyes on older Baz’s the whole time._

_“Menace,” Baz says and leans in closer, so only Simon can hear him and whispers something that makes him blush all the way to the tip of his ears._

_Baz is grateful he didn’t get to hear it, because he’s already extremely uncomfortable seeing them act like this. Like they’re about to duck into some alley and get an afternoon quickie in before the van they’re waiting for arrives._

_Simon chuckles and leans back, raising both eyebrows, “We’ll see tonight, Basil,” he says, and then lifts their joined hands to his lips, places a kiss on the back of Baz’s hand._

_“Happy birthday baby,” Simon tells him, “Thirty-five laps around the sun.”_

_Older Baz smiles wide and nods. His eyes look full of emotion, an expression younger Baz has never seen on himself until now. He frankly looks a bit like he wants to cry right there and then, in the middle of the busy street._

_“Happy that I get to spend the rest of my birthdays with you, sunshine,” he replies._

_Baz cringes at the whole exchange, at their use of pet names, at the fact that they’re on holiday just because it’s his birthday, at their whole public display of affection as he watches them kiss now. The whole scenario his brain created is preposterous. He wants to sob with how humiliated he feels._

_He’s thankful that his time is up as his mind goes blank, so he lifts his head from the fountain, pulls his boater hat back on and rushes to his room without looking at anyone. When he’s halfway across the great lawn, he hears Simon screaming at him from behind. He can smell Simon’s magick. He’s so worked up the smell of smoke is strong enough to burn his lungs._

_Good. He’s spoiling for a fight too._

_“You’re such a fucking prick,” Simon yells at him, furious, “What did you do?”_

_Much better, Baz thinks to himself as he turns around, hand already curled up in a fist._

Baz opens his eyes, taking in his living room. It’s hard to acknowledge the signs that have been here all along. The Crucible, their visions of the future, the way they could (and probably still can) share magic…but most the important of all, their ever-lasting feelings for each other. 

While everything in his life has changed dramatically throughout the years, there’s something that has remained with him: this love that has lived within him through every single one of his different phases, from the moment he realised he was cursed with the ability to love recklessly.

Even when he tried with other people, it always lived within him, a warm bonfire waiting to be ignited again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY SO... I finally acknowledge the fact that they're mages (which is something I'm awful at) Hope you like this little Watford tradition I made up! I worked so hard on the memory bit because as a non-native English speaker it took me a while to get the tenses right, but basically when Baz is retelling his vision, he's telling it like he's 15-year-old baz again!
> 
> Let me know what you think, 
> 
> Lots of love,  
> MP 🖤


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. This is the monster chapter. This is the chapter that inspired this whole fic, the box of meaningful junk Simon’s been holding onto for years. Enjoy!!!! ♥♥♥

Simon promises himself to wait for a couple of days to text Baz again. It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk to him. Quite the opposite, really.

Ever since their reencounter, he thinks about him in the tube, when he goes on runs, when he’s mindlessly kneading dough for long periods, piping cookies into baking sheets, when he’s about to fall asleep…you name it. He just doesn’t want to overwhelm Baz with incessant texting. He’s also wary about not rushing into inciting deep conversations like the one they just had, just for the sake of being cautious. Not yet.

It’s a completely contrary situation from their previous relationship, where he couldn’t bear the idea of letting Baz know how much he liked him, all that he meant to him. Now all he wants to do is tell him how fucking special he is.

He missed his dry humour, his filthy jokes, and his laughter that he tries so hard to make sound polite and controlled, but it always comes out loud when he’s with Simon. But most of all, he missed the way Baz can understand his silences, his reactions without the need for any words. He understands him in such a profound way that he never experienced again with any of his other partners. Baz knows his complete story, and more so, Baz was present while it was being made. 

The waiting period he planned on doesn’t happen, because when he gets home that Saturday, completely wrecked from sorting wedding cake orders, and plugs his phone in, there are a few texts from Baz already.

 _14:24 Baz:_ Hope you had a nice time.  
_14:24 Baz:_ Thank you for the croissants, they made for a delicious lunch.  
_14:24 Baz:_ I’d like to see you again if you’re up for it.  
_14:25 Baz:_ I’m sorry for my state this morning.  
_14:28 Baz:_ alright, I’m going to fuck off now.

Simon smiles fondly at the texts, excited for the way things are unravelling naturally. His mind is set on doing all the pursuing this time, but it makes him feel like he’s floating on cotton candy clouds to know Baz is just as eager to be with him as he is. 

After exchanging a few texts with him and having dinner with Posie, he takes a long shower and falls asleep at the thought of the future ahead of them.

#####  Baz 

It’s a week after their breakfast date, on a cold Saturday when Baz decides it’s impossible to work at home in this January weather without crawling back into bed every hour. So, he packs his computer, his planner and some stationary and walks through his neighbourhood with the sole mission of hogging the best table that the Starbucks near his flat has. 

It’s on the top floor, a rectangular dark wood table with decorative glass panels separating it from the next one. It’s also separated with glass panels from the round tables that fill the rest of the top floor, in a way that creates a cubicle. It feels very private, complete with warm-toned lamps hanging from the ceiling. For Baz, it works as some sort of library room.

Whenever he’s in there for a while, he can feel the stink eye overeager uni students give him for refusing to give up his table for them. He doesn’t care. 

In contrast to his lonely flat, there’s enough hot drinks and pastries to keep him going throughout the day, plus being outside the house helps him focus and be less antsy. He discovered he likes to work in a café environment ages ago, since those rough finals week at university, and he often recurs to his old routine whenever he lacks the motivation to be productive. 

He’s been working for a good three hours on the projections for next week, poring through rows and rows of numbers when he hears his phone ping from his briefcase. He knows it’s Simon because he’s already set a special ringtone for him, although he’d never admit that out loud.

He takes a sip from an almost empty mocha breve and reaches into his briefcase.

 _15:56 Simon:_ Hello : )  
_15:56 Simon:_ what are u up to???

Baz smiles, grateful that he wore something much more presentable this time just in case. This jumper is quite nice, with its striped pattern in red, white and black, complete with black jeans.

 _15:58 Baz:_ I’m working  
_15:58 Baz:_ at Starbucks.

Baz isn’t even finished typing when Simon appears to be typing from the top of the chat.

 _15:58 Simon:_ Wow  
_15:58 Simon:_ Posh people Saturdays  
_15:59 Simon:_ am I right???

Baz can’t help but snort ungracefully and flush at Simon’s comment. His messages are marked as read as he’s sending them. That only enlarges his grin.

 _16:00 Baz:_ Perhaps.  
_16:00 Baz:_ But I am willing to leave this coffee shop if you’re getting off early from the bakery.  
_16:01 Baz:_ …And if you’re not too tired, of course.

 _16:01 Simon:_ YES I was JUST going to say that  
_16:01 Simon:_ but, can I join u there??  
_16:01 Simon:_ I’ve got to do some boring paperwork for the shop  
_16:01 Simon:_ Send me ur location

 _16:02 Baz:_ **Location**  
_16:02 Baz:_ What do you want to drink?

Baz’s heart pounds loudly in his chest from the moment when Simon texts him to ask where he’s sitting, all the way until he stands in the doorframe, wearing casual blue jeans, a thick red turtleneck jumper and black boots. He’s carrying a worn backpack on one shoulder. 

“Hi,” Simon says shyly. 

Baz motions him to come in, so he does. He drops his backpack on one of the empty chairs. Before he sits, Baz stands quickly.

“Snow,” he says, still deciding between a handshake or something less awkward when Simon simply pulls on his forearm gently and kisses his cheek.

He can feel himself getting flustered, so he quickly sits across from Simon, trying to rely on firmer ground for stability.

“Here,” he says, sliding Simon the drink he got him when he texted him he was near, “I hope this warms you up a little,” Baz finishes, feeling embarrassed at his awkward antics.

Simon gives him a big grin, “Course, it’s horrible outside,” he replies. He does a little happy dance after taking a small sip, and the sight makes Baz’s heart swell.

“How long have you been here?” Simon asks as he opens his beat-up backpack.

Baz tucks his hair behind his left ear and grabs his pen to have something to fiddle with, “Since noon or so,” he says sincerely, “I wasn’t getting anything done at home,”

Simon nods, “Yeah, I get that,” he replies as he opens a worn down notebook and pulls out a simple pencil, “Uh, I always do admin stuff during the weekends. Usually Sunday night, though,”

Baz smiles fondly at the thought of Simon doing work on his bed, busy fixing up orders. It’s those simple details about his life that make him ache to know more about him. He already knows most of the big picture, the big, scary moments, but he’s missed out on the most important details. The quiet mornings, the routinary tasks and Sunday nights…the thought of getting to see all that makes him giddy.

“Sorry I dragged you here, but I’m glad you’ll have a free Sunday night, then,” he tells him sincerely.  
Simon takes another sip before replying, “Yeah. Hopefully, yeah.”

He tells him for a bit about how it’s his job to plan the time all the special orders placed are going to be made according to the requested delivery time, and then write a separate shopping list for speciality ingredients, decorations, and so on. Baz drops his pen and listens, completely focused on Simon. 

In turn, Baz tells him all about home office days where he closes every week of projections and results, he also talks about his group chat with his coworkers where they pressure each other to finish on time in case someone is staying behind, to avoid difficulties on Mondays. The conversation flows easily, with quick pauses only for sipping on their drinks and bringing up the running jokes they have going on now that they talk daily. They’ve only talked on the phone three times, but it was a huge step for both of them.

Eventually, they go back to their respective tasks, making short conversation in between. Baz feels like he’s in a dream, getting to share such a mundane moment of his week with someone he cares about this much, regardless of their situation. It feels very domestic and secure, and Baz lets himself lean into the feeling. 

The hours go by quickly, and soon enough, the Uni students start leaving their tables, and the sky outside the glass windows is now completely dark. Baz glances at his phone. He watches Simon for a couple of seconds, bronze curls reflecting the warm light charmingly. He follows his freckled cheekbones, and his nose all the way to his hands circling a few words on his messy notes. He tries not to focus too much on his lips, especially now that he’s tired and stupid from working all day. That’s never a good moment to make a serious decision.

“Hey,” he says softly, “Are you hungry? It’s eight already,”

Simon nods almost violently, “Yeah. I’m actually starving, and I’m finishing up just now, you?”

“Same. I can stop here. Do you want to grab dinner with me?” Baz asks meeting his eyes. He’s proud of himself for being forward this time, instead of masking the invitation with lousy excuses. He’s eager to have dinner with Simon Snow, and he wants him to know.

“Yup. Dinner sounds perfect,” Simon replies, eyes shining.  
-

Dinner ends up being an Italian takeaway picked up on the way to Simon’s flat, for the sake of not standing in the cold outside a restaurant waiting for a table. He insisted Baz had to try the parmesan gnocchi they serve there, so they settled on it.

He watches Baz eat slowly, sitting next to him in bed. It’s a little too reminiscent of the start of their first relationship, but it’s also comfortable to talk and listen to his music on shuffle. 

“This is divine, Snow,” Baz tells him when he’s halfway through his second garlic roll.

“M-hmm,” Simon replies with a mouth full of pasta, “Told you. Loads of parmesan, olive oil, herbs… It’s everything you’d ever want in a meal.”

He’s delighted to watch Baz eat, really eat without worries now. He remembers back then when he was just a boy who’d starve until he could be alone and eat with his fangs out. Not that he’d mind if they were out now, but Baz’s whole demeanour now screams comfortable with himself.

He tells him so. His comment is greeted with a smile.

“Yes. I had no idea of how much I was missing out on,” Baz says, putting his fork down, “I can do work lunches now, dates, Christmas…it took some time, but it’s glorious now that I’ve mastered it.”

“I can tell. I’m so fucking happy for you, Baz,” he says sincerely, before taking a drink of his wine. He can’t believe Baz agreed to drink expensive wine in plastic cups. Posie is probably hoarding their wine glasses in her room, as she usually does. She has a glass of rosé every weeknight after dinner. By the time the weekend arrives, they’re all lined up on her dresser, only to be returned there on Sunday night, after she washes them when Simon’s not looking.

Simon had no say in their drink since he’d already picked and paid for their food, and Baz was adamant they needed a suitable bottle of Chardonnay to go with it, so they stopped at a wine shop on the way to his flat. He doesn’t know much about wines, but it tastes nice with the pasta, so he’s happy to go along with it.

“I, uh, also found a way to get blood easily,” he meets his eyes and looks down quickly, “Sorry. I can stop talking about it now, it might gross you out-”

Simon rolls his eyes and groans, “Baz. Are you serious?”, he gives him an intense look, trying to remind him that he’s in fact, the bloke who begged him to bite him for weeks.

“It’s-just, Snow-“

“Baz. Your fangs have been _inside_ me. I don’t know why you’d think that,” he teases.

Baz’ eyes widen. For a split second, Simon’s terrified he’s hit a raw nerve, but he’s soothed when he watches Baz smother a hysterical chuckle by covering his face with both of his hands. He joins him, laughing openly.

“Yup. So don’t go all shy on me, Basil, I’ve seen it all.”

Baz finally meets his eyes and tucks a piece of hair behind his ear “Fair enough. Okay,” 

He tells him about the butcher shops he visits frequently and how they all think they’re supplying for an enthusiastic black pudding aficionado. It makes a lot of sense, and it’s easier on Baz to just go to the fridge and grab a jar instead of going out in the middle of the night to prey on stray cats and mice. Much less haunting, too. Simon wants to smack himself for not thinking of it earlier. It would’ve reduced much of Baz’s stress once they moved to London.  
-  
After dinner, Simon takes all their empty containers to the kitchen and leaves Baz alone in his room for a moment. 

Baz stretches and walks to the window, staring out into the quiet street. He looks down to the old armchair, and his heart shatters on the hardwood floor when he notices the plastic pink hairbrush sitting on it next to a cardboard box. It’s complete with long black hairs, and he realises with a heavy ache on his chest that it can’t be Snow’s or even Posie’s because although her mane is long and beautiful, it’s a fiery red colour. 

He opens the box hurriedly, without giving it much thought, before Snow returns. There are other things inside, a couple of hair ties, a woman’s blouse, a movie ticket stub, a tube of cheap lipstick… He can’t believe he didn’t trust his intuition and got out of Simon’s life before he became attached again.

He sits on the bed, takes a deep breath, and tries talking to himself before he does something embarrassing like crying. It’s okay. This was expected. He never made a move other than eating with you.

Simon returns from the kitchen, grinning and carrying two mugs of tea, like the world hasn’t stopped spinning for Baz a minute ago.

“Hey, I got us some tea and-“ he stops when he sees Baz grabbing his phone and keys from the nightstand.

“I’m leaving now, Snow,” Baz mutters, turning his back to him, “Had a nice time, but I’ve got to be home now,”

Simon sets both cups on the dresser and interjects him by standing in front of the door.

“What are you talking about? You were just saying we had to watch that French film,” he challenges, feeling wounded.

Baz doesn’t make a move to push past him, he simply shakes his head, looking exhausted, “I just think we want different things, Snow, and I’m not sure your partner would be comfortable with our so-called friendship,”

Simon frowns and scans the room, trying to find something that’d trigger him, but he can’t quite find it, “Baz, the closest thing I’ve got to a partner now is you, and that’s me being optimistic-” he stops abruptly when his eyes land on the hairbrush.

He’s always known he’s careless, but he can’t believe he left Marla’s stuff out in the open like that. He frowns, a pained expression spreading across his face.

“Jesus, it’s not what you think,” he tries.

Baz sneers, eyes full of fire, “Yeah, heard that one before, Snow. Now, if you’ll excuse me,”

Simon grabs one of Baz’s hands between his and starts tracing circles over his knuckles, “It’s not hers- I mean, it is, but, it’s just a box. I’ve been meaning to ship it since we broke up, but I keep finding stuff,”

Baz narrows his eyes, but doesn’t snatch his hand from Simon’s grip, “What’s all this then? Why is it there now?” he replies, keeping his voice steady.

Simon shrugs, “I dunno, she texted me wanting her shirt a few days ago, and I figured I’d send it this week and then completely forgot about it,” he pulls Baz towards his bed and grabs the box from the armchair after shoving the hairbrush in carelessly, “We broke up six months ago, it’s been ages,”

Baz doesn’t say anything, just watches slightly amused as Simon thrusts the box on his lap and sits right next to him.

“Here, have a look. It’s everything she left behind, none of this matters to me now. This is just an ex-box,” 

“That’s not what that means, Snow,”

Baz can’t help but feel relieved. Simon even shows him the ticket stub from their first date. It was over a year ago, nothing recent.

“I know, it’s just, let me come clean. I’ve only been in three longish relationships after well, _us_ …” he explains, running a hand through his curls, “So I usually put their stuff in a box, to give it back at some point, but this time Marla, uh, my ex moved to Leeds, so I never got the chance. We never lived together, by the way,”

He takes a deep breath and nods, taking everything in. He finds it necessary to soothe Simon, so he grabs his hand briefly and rubs his thumb over his knuckles, “All right, Snow. It’s fine, I’m sorry I went all teenage angst on you,”

“No, I completely get it. I would’ve been mad too,” Simon replies sincerely.

The atmosphere in the room feels much lighter now, and Baz uses the moment to carefully fold her bright pink blouse and place it back in the box, along with all her stuff. Simon watches him in awe, marvelling at how gentle he’s being.

Baz feels like he’s being watched, so he looks up to meet blue eyes. They’re clear and open, and he feels like can see right through Simon now. 

He grins mischievously, “So, Snow, what about me? Did I have an ex-box too?”, he’s only joking, trying to lighten the mood, knowing full well they were together ages ago and didn’t really have many souvenirs from each other.

He’s surprised when a coy smile spreads across Simon’s face.

“Actually, yeah. You must know you did, I’ve been carrying it around for years, ever since my first flat with Penny,” he says, fidgeting with the edges of the cardboard box, “Do you, um, wanna have a look?”

“Sure. Show me, though I must tell you I have absolutely no clue about what’s in it,” Baz warns him.

Simon leaves Marla’s box back on the armchair and opens the closet door. He pulls out a beat-up grey suitcase and then crouches down.

“Just a sec, it’s here, it’s just buried beneath my mess,” Simon calls out from inside the closet.

Baz snorts, finding the whole thing unbelievable, “Take your time,”

Simon emerges after a few more seconds of rummaging, carrying a black wooden box. Baz recognises it immediately, the keepsake box engraved with antique compasses and ships in gold. It belonged to Ebb when she was alive, and it’s one of the only things Simon kept from her after she passed.

He has absolutely no idea why Simon chose to keep his old junk there. Surely after everything he deserved an old Amazon box, if so.

Simon discards his slippers and sits cross-legged on the bed, facing Baz. He follows, and it’s very much like the time they shared magic at the top of Mummers house, back when they were two lost boys before everything changed.

“Just so you know, everything here is probably going to be cringy rubbish for you, but I’ll try to explain why I kept it, yeah?” Simon warns as he undoes the latches and sets it between them.

The first visible thing is one of his old handkerchiefs. Simon pulls it out, feeling slightly embarrassed, and hands it to him, “Uh, one of these I actually had from our Watford days-”

“Is this the one I dropped on your bed when you were crying?” Baz tells him, bewildered.

“Yup, that was fifteen years ago,” Simon says, pulling another one from the bottom of the box. He sets it aside, the Pitch coat of arms visible, “You gave me this one right before the breakup-”

Baz completes his sentence, the memory still fresh on his mind, “Before one of your therapy sessions, correct?” 

“Mmmhm,” 

“I’m sorry I was an arse to you when we were kids,” he tells him, meaning every word, “I know it was so long ago, but sometimes it still haunts me,”

Simon has the audacity to boop Baz’s nose affectionately, “It’s not like you broke your own nose. You pushed, but I pulled hard,” 

Baz smiles at him. He’s so endearing he can feel his heart growing three sizes at his gestures.

The next thing he pulls out is a fistful of black hair elastics in varying degrees of stretched out, “You left all these in our old flat. Penny said it was wasteful to just keep them and asked me to hand them over, but I fought her for them,” 

“Well, the mystery of the disappearing elastics is solved now,” Baz tells him, his heart aching. He can’t believe he dated this beautiful, kind man. He reaches inside this time, “ _Aleister Crowley,_ I haven’t seen this one in years,” 

It’s his Watford graduation photo. A skinnier, even greyer version of him looking straight at the camera with dead eyes in his Gucci suit. In the back, Simon’s scribbled the date they took it. He can’t believe he never noticed these details back then.

“You gave it to me, after the Leavers. Remember the dance?” Simon prompts him, “That night at the tower, Jesus,”

Baz smirks and rolls his eyes, remembering the time he almost lost his virginity, before things got bad in the physical touch department, “Of course I do, how could I forget?”

The thought of Simon tenderly recollecting scraps of their relationship to keep makes his throat close up a bit.

The next thing he pulls out is a small version of his bergamot cologne. Suddenly he doesn’t feel as embarrassed as he does when he thinks of the t-shirt he nicked from Simon’s drawers before leaving that flat forever. Simon confirms that he only bought it because he found his scent soothing. Same exact thing as his own fixation with the shirt.

He tells him so.

“Hmm, so Shepard was telling the truth. I genuinely thought they had something to do with the Las Vegas shirt going missing. He kept going on about you keeping it,”

Baz scrunches up his nose, “I’m sorry. I needed something-”

Simon silences him, “S’okay. It’s cute. I didn’t think you had anything from me,” 

The next thing Simon pulls out is a coffee sleeve. It has _Baz_ scribbled on it. Throughout his life, he’s bought thousands of coffees, and he can’t believe Simon kept a piece of cardboard just because his name is on it.

“This was, uh, the last coffee we had together. You brought it that morning, I had an instant one from our kitchen while I got ready for uni. You left in such a hurry for class, that you forgot to throw the cup out, and I found it in my room weeks later,” 

Baz nods simply, not wanting to cut him off, but Simon doesn’t go into detail. He doesn’t need to. He knows he returned from uni that day with the hopes of spending the night in one of their sex marathons to celebrate the end of his boyfriend’s first week as a student, only to face a breakup right in the kitchen.

He remembers that scene too well. Glass shattering on the white tile. Simon’s back hunched over the sink. His own fists clenching and unclenching, trying to reason with him. It doesn’t hurt anymore, but he distinctly recalls the very moment everything stopped.

He pulls a stack of Christmas cards from the box. Baz doesn’t recognise them, “What are these?”

Simon gives him a shy grin, “Uh, Daphne sends one every year. With a Nando’s gift card. It’s sweet. The first one was right after we broke up, and I thought you had something to do with it, or that she didn’t know we were done, um, so I called,”

Baz nods. He knows Daphne too well to doubt his story, “Let me guess, and she told you our status wasn’t a problem,” 

“Yep. So she kept sending them, and I sent her a few back. They’re all very sweet,” he says, as he spreads them out so Baz can see the designs. They’re cheesy hallmark cards with cats or cartoon dragons in Santa hats.

Baz snorts and cringes a little at the designs, “She’s such a mum. She genuinely likes you, too. Better than anyone I’ve brought home,” he confesses.

Simon raises an eyebrow this time, “How many?” he asks without thinking,

Baz is quiet, surprised at his sudden interest, “Well-”

“Nevermind. You don’t have to tell me. Dunno why I did that,” he apologises quickly.

“Two people, Snow. I've dated two people formally after you. The last one ended about a year ago. The first one lasted for two years,” he confesses, “Uh, it was pretty serious, but I never was ready. I never was sure,”

“Did you love him?” Simon asks, tucking the cards back into the box carefully. _As much as you loved me?_ is what he really means. Baz knows this.

“Yes, of course. Not in an _I’d set myself on fire if he’d died,_ type of way, but I did,” he tells him. 

He goes into detail about his relationship with Abel. How they met at a Coven meeting, a year and a half after their breakup. He tells him about the chase and then about loads of fundraisers and stiff dinners they went to as part of their courtship, he even includes the proposal bit. Simon winces uncomfortably and sighs when he hears that part. He’s not jealous, of course he isn’t. But he can’t help but hate the idea of Baz married to someone who isn’t him. Of violin playing, late night-crisp-eater Baz, committing forever to someone else, because he knows Baz doesn’t believe in divorce.

“I want you to know, that if he’s the one, you can still go for him, yeah? If you see yourself forever with him, I’m-”

Baz cuts him off by squeezing his knee, “Shh. Simon. What are you going on about? He’s happily married. We’re at that stage where I send his kid Christmas presents. Trust me. I wasn’t the one for him, there was no soulmate sort of thing with him,”

Simon nods curtly, “Okay. Well…I’ve never popped the question to anyone, just so you know,”

Baz clicks his tongue, letting him steer the conversation there, “Why?”

Simon scratches the back of his neck and wrinkles his nose, trying to buy some time, “Uh, I waited. I mean, not consciously, because I thought you were gone forever, but I never felt like I’d _love_ them forever, in such a way where I’d permanently bind myself to them,”

Baz nods, knowing full well what he means, “You loved them, but it never felt like they were it for you, did it?”

“Yup. Something like that,” he replies, grabbing the last couple of things from the bottom of the box.

Baz wants to kiss him because that’s exactly how he felt when Abel proposed. He wasn’t exactly waiting for Simon to come back and marry him, but he was waiting for something that felt bigger. He wants to place both hands gently on his flushed cheeks and place a chaste kiss on his lips, to seal the promise that went unsaid. _They waited for each other._

Simon meets his eyes and blinks slowly, and for a second Baz thinks he's going to lean in. He doesn’t. Instead, he licks at his bottom lip and slides Baz his old star necklace. He is familiar with this one.

It’d been an impulse buy. He’d found it on an Etsy shop while he was browsing away after the trip. He decided it’d be a perfect replacement to his boyfriend’s old silver cross. Simon loved it so much he wore it even in his sleep. This one was gold, of course, allowing Baz to hold him to his chest all he wanted.

It symbolised in a way, the time they shared magic and went to space together. The first time they felt that deep, magical connection.

“I wore it for months after we were over, but uh, eventually my therapist said it’d be good to detach myself from it,” he explains, voice thick, “I woke up one day, about a year later and finally took it off,”

Baz nods, understanding completely, “You’re so sweet. It pains me to know you went through the same grief as I did, which is idiotic on my part because I know you cared. Of course you did, but it still feels strange to hear it,” he confesses and leans closer into Simon, placing one of his hands on his knee.

It’s a small gesture, but it’s enough to ground them both. They’re here now and that’s all that matters. Simon places his hand over his.

He hands him the last item, a scrap of paper that Baz is certain he’s never seen before.

“What’s this one?” he asks, examining it. Simon remains silent, so he opens it and notices now it’s from a hotel notepad of the ones they stayed at during the America mess.

_I love you so much it hurts me. Most times. Are you still mine?_

He clutches it to his chest and makes a choked sound.

“You wrote this in America?” he asks, incredulous.

“Yup. After that night in the truck. I thought I’d give it to you and we’d have this big moment where everything would turn back to normal and that’d be that-”

He never finishes his sentence, because Baz launches himself at him roughly and envelops him in his arms, resting his chin over Simon’s curls. Simon wraps his arms around his slim waist and leans back to meet his eyes. They’re incredibly soft, but there are no tears in them.

Baz isn’t crying, he’s just too shocked. The whole time he never thought Simon loved him, at least not like this, not this intensely. He wants to tell him he’s still his to keep. His to lose, but the words don’t come. It feels like it’s too soon.

“I felt like that too, Snow. All the time. We were just too young, too dense to know we had it all-” he babbles on.

He’s cut off by Simon leaning in. He closes his eyes, preparing himself for the sweet serotonin overflow that comes with tasting his favourite set of lips in the world. Simon rubs his lower back gently and places a single kiss on the corner of his mouth.

Baz feels delirious, like he might cry. He can’t believe he fell for this again, but he doesn’t want to push him into doing something he clearly doesn’t want. 

“Wanna do it right this time, Baz, ” Simon says after sliding his hands away from his waist.

Baz nods, “I understand. We’ll see where this goes, all right?” he reassures him, sitting back down.

“Yeah. No more secrets this time,” Simon replies simply. He notices Baz is still clutching the note on his pale fist, “You can keep it, y’know? It’s yours. Always has been yours.”

Baz grins and shoves it on the pocket of his jeans. The first love letter he’s ever received. He never gave Simon one, because he lived in fear of overwhelming him, but he certainly wrote a fair number of them for him in his journal.

A while later, after some more chatting, he checks his phone and notices it’s late for Simon’s standards. They promise each other to watch the film sometime during the week and he goes home in an overly expensive taxi, head swimming with every confession they made that night.

It baffles him to think about how they’re comfortable enough to finally be honest and talk about why they didn’t work out, to accept they both made terrible mistakes and hurt each other.

That night, Baz slips into a dreamless sleep, his body twitchy with the gnawing feeling he forgot to tell Simon something important, but he can’t quite place what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SORRY FOR TAKING AGES!!! but here it is, hope yall like it :) feel free to drop a comment if you did ♥
> 
> Also: a note for my friend Pai idk where you account went :( but I hope you're well and safe!!! ♥♥♥ miss you forever


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO fluff!! and a Lil some something at the end!! lemme know if you like this :)!!! Enjoy 🖤

It’s not after the second time Baz sneaks out of their flat on a weeknight that Posie realises he’s the one in the picture that’s been on the fridge for a long time.

Simon groans when she asks him about it, feeling a little embarrassed. Not about dating Baz, but about everything he’s said about him during their movie nights, where they get drunk on rosé and eat chocolate like it’s no one else’s business.

All the pining and the whining and the “I once dated a guy who was good at this and that”, or every single time he claimed something she said reminded him of that ex. He talked about him so often enough that she knows Baz as the golden ex. 

“Oh my Lord. That bloke-he’s the one in the fridge isn’t he?” she says, after Baz says goodbye politely and Simon returns from walking him to his car.

She happened to be in the living room, having a glass of wine when he left Simon’s room. Now, they’re not very secretive with each other about the people they’re dating, but they also don’t request a full report on every single person they bring home. Now that he’s back in the kitchen, doing the dishes, she approaches him.

“Yeah,” Simon replies shrugging, “My ex from Watford,”

“Why did you omit the most important part of it all?” she says sitting on the counter and pouring herself another glass, “That he’s Baz Pitch,”

Simon shrugs again, “uh, I mean, I thought you’d figure it out eventually, but I just didn’t wanna put him on blast,”

She giggles, feeling a little dumb. The bloke had already introduced himself as Baz Pitch back at the New Year’s party. Even though she did all her magickal studies abroad with her aunt, she had heard of the Pitch family, especially of his Mother’s influence on Watford.

“I don’t know why I didn’t connect the dots. He’d already told me his name, but it’s just-“ she hops off the counter and removes the photo from the fridge, returning to her spot, “This polaroid is blurry, and half his face is hidden under his fringe,”

Simon nods, “Uh-uh. I had already told you that was my ex in the photo, but I didn’t tell you that your little party brought us together,” he says, rinsing the salad bowl.

“Okay, so now you’re sleeping together or what? Is it like an old flame returns for a good shag thing or what?” she asks, winking at him.

Simon groans for the second time and narrows his eyes at her, “Nope. We haven’t slept together yet,”

“But he’s the one from all the stories, right? Violin player, poem-writing bloke, sonnet-casting, huge co-“

Simon goes beet red and stops her before she finishes, “Yep. Now I’m really regretting telling you all these things,” 

“It’s okay. To be fair, love, we thought he was gone. But I do remember everything you’ve said under the influence, unfortunately,” she says, a huge smile plastered on her face.

He places the last plate on the dish drainer, “The secret is out. That’s where I go when I come home late. We’re sort of dating again, but not really. It’s complicated,” he confesses.

Posie pulls out a second wineglass from the cabinet above her, “Well, we’ve got time and, you don’t work on Wednesdays, so,”

Simon grins and rolls his eyes, happy to be able to finally talk about it openly. They turn on the fairy lights in the living room and grab a few chocolates from their stash. 

Posie settles under the sofa throw, and he pulls on the other end, wrapping it around himself. That's their standard gossiping setup, ever since they moved in three years ago.

He starts by recounting their first reencounter, “I was so embarrassed, can you imagine? I was all sweaty from doing all the pastries, frankly wanting to have a beer and fuck off to sleep and there he was, looking all posh and perfect,”

She cackles, “No, but I’m sure he feels the same way. I don’t know why it never clicked when I met him, that you went to Watford together. I was also extremely pissed at the party so, ”

“Yup. We were roommates, y’know? We were the only ones to have an en suite, at the very top of the tower. We wasted all of our time there fighting, but still,”

She raises both eyebrows playfully. Although she barely tasted the Watford experience, she’s heard enough from the community about it to know most of the gossip and the organisation of the school. She loves the idea of attending a boarding school, but she also loves the way her aunt raised her in Rumania, among the fields and her flowers, coaching her on Elocution and the necessary skills to be a proper mage.

It’s not common for Mages to go down that route, but it’s also not illegal. Her parents didn’t know what to do with her. She was too problematic during her first term at Watford, failed all of her classes and hated the experience. They ultimately decided to send her with her aunt to care for magickal creatures.

That lifestyle suited her much better. She could roam free and not live under a constricted schedule.

“So then what happened, you told me ages ago you got together during whole burning forest thing, but then what?”

Simon threads carefully, chalking Baz’s desperation to problems with his Father and their time together that Christmas to a school project, avoiding the vampire part. He hasn’t asked Baz yet, but he’s sure not many people know about it.

He recounts the America trip too, telling him about his jealousy and how broken and inadequate he felt without his magic. She nods. 

“I get it. Completely. You are so strong, Si. I’m sure I would’ve been the same if I had lost it,” she says, squeezing his hand, “And I’m being honest. I admire you. Not for the chosen one shit, you know this, but for how brave you are,”

Simon nods, feeling himself getting a bit choked up, so he takes a long swig of wine. His friendship with Posie is special to him. It’s not like with Penelope, of course, but it also doesn’t make sense to compare them. Penny is his forever best friend, but now that they’re both making adult life work, they are less dependent on each other.

Posie’s here during weeknights where a shift was shit or she got injured in one of her rescue missions. That’s what she does, rescue magickal creatures for a living. They share the mundanity of adult life like paying their electricity bill or deciding what to order on rainy days. They’ve also seen most of each other’s Tinder sprees, bad dates and breakups. 

“After America and Watford’s disaster, we were together for a bit, you know this. It seemed like things were going really good by then. Then I got into baking school, and broke up with him,”

She fake punches him, “Why? You were clearly in love with him, and on the road to recovery, plus you were getting it on finally, so…”

Simon tucks both of his hands into the blanket and stares at the twinkling lights for a beat. She takes the moment to pop a chocolate truffle into her mouth.

“Well…it’s a bit fucked when you say it like that, innit?” he tells her honestly, “I was terrified,”

“Of losing him?” 

“No. The opposite. I felt like I couldn’t see a future without him in it. Like we’d been attached for too long. I mean, I didn’t even have a personality when I met him, so it felt like I didn’t even know who I was without Baz,”

“It was always Simon & Baz from the start, right?”

“Yeah. Either Simon and Baz are in trouble, or Simon and Baz are roommates, and then Simon and Baz are kissing, and then we were together all the time, and I was happy. Incredibly so, but I felt like it wasn’t fair for either of us. We were too young, plus we were too intense at the end?”

He shrugs, reminiscing of those last days and goes on, “Um, by that point, we were sleeping over every single day, and Baz was always at the flat or I was at his. I mean, he never even experienced the library at his school until after we broke up, I think. I know It was his choice, but it felt like we were robbing each other of our early twenties,”

“Well, yeah, but it was also a soulmate thing, from what you’ve told me,” Posie reminds him.

“It is. Completely is, I’m sure. But by the end, we even started talking about eloping. It was exciting and cute, but it also felt like too soon. We were caught up in this whirlwind-“

“Too fast. You were twenty–yikes,” she remarks, running her fingers through her long hair, “I think I would’ve done the same. For what it’s worth, I don’t think you ran because you were scared of committing, but because you both needed to grow,”

“I’d like to think so,” Simon agrees, “I’m not sure we wanted to get married and spent all that time together for the right reasons. I think we were clinging onto what was familiar,”

She grabs his hand under the blanket, “I get it, yeah? Maybe it was also good for him,”

“Completely. He was just as bad as me. We based a lot of our feelings and our ways of coping around our relationship, trying not to upset each other. At that time I was working with my therapist on finding who I actually was under the whole Chosen one thing,”

She squeezes his hand, willing him to go on. It hurts her heart to know how much he went through before they met.

“A lot of it was well ‘Baz says I’m good at this,’ or ‘Baz says I like this’, but very little of what I knew about myself came from me,” Simon goes on and runs his free hand through his curls, “Then, I had my first week at uni, and I couldn’t bear the thought of him being in an environment as free and cool as that feeling like he couldn’t experience that life, couldn’t date around or go on unexpected trips to the pub or whatever, just so he wouldn’t upset me.”

“So you went for the setting him free route,” she takes a swig of wine, mulling over his choices, “What happened after?”

“Well, I was heartbroken, y’know? I was bitter all the time seeing couples and romantic films and all that shit,” he confesses, “I regretted the breakup a lot for the first year. I went back and forth between leaving him alone and asking him for another chance a million times,” 

Simon goes silent and shakes his head, “But at the end, I focused on myself. I threw myself into school and meeting new friends, and hanging out with Penny and Shep,”

Posie smiles, a glint of mischief in her eye, “Yes, the whole uni life. Cheap drinks, takeaways, late Sundays, strange hook-ups,” 

“Mhmm, not so much about the hook-ups. I didn’t date anyone for the first year. I did slip into bed with a couple of strangers, though,” he winces at the thought, “and you know the rest. I found out he was in a committed relationship after, so I finally started seeing people and stuff,”

“So what is it like now?” she asks, genuinely curious, “What do you do? Because New year’s eve was a month ago, so-“

Simon smiles fondly, “Well, it’s different. We see each other whenever our schedules align. We eat, watch films here, or at his flat. We talk a lot. Like, he lays on my lap and goes on about the stock market and the company he works at and all of that. I bore him to death making him watch baking shows. We go on walks,” 

Posie narrows her eyes, “Uhh, how fun,” she deadpans, “But what else?”

“We’ve even had like proper dates, with snobbish wine and a reserved table. It’s weird, to know him like that, but it makes me giddy. He’s also popped into the shop a couple of times during my break, to drop off some lunch. But we haven’t really discussed our future or anything like that. We haven’t snogged or anything more, either”

“Why? What’s stopping you? It’s not like both of you haven’t-“

“I know that. It’s just, the first time we dated we were all about sex and kissing and being physical and didn’t get to date and do the fun stuff. I mean, we killed evil creatures together and all that, but it was pure adrenaline,” he says, smiling at the thought, “I want to, I’m dying to snog him, for the record. I just want us to be sure of everything this time before jumping again blindly.”

Posie nods and passes him a truffle. He shoves it all in his mouth and closes his eyes before continuing.

“Plus, Baz is all about the chase and the courtship and all that shit. Like, if I drop him off after the fancy dinners with a kiss on the cheek at his doorstep, he stays up smiling at the ceiling, he’s told me,” he shakes his head, a huge grin on his face, “It’s lovely. I’m so chuffed I can give him that. You wouldn’t think he’d like that, but he’s also you know, from the Families. He’s into the whole dramatic proposals and flowers thing,”

She rolls her eyes, “Yeah, yeah. Old family traditions and duels and proposals. Well, it’s not really a chase if you were together for ages before, is it?”

“But the thing now is, we’ve both tried with other people, and we know for sure we could get somebody else if we wanted. Yet we save all of our free time for going on walks on the park holding hands,”

Posie watches him, truly unable to keep herself from smiling. She can tell he’s completely smitten, as she’s never seen him before. She’s seen a couple of his relationships, but nothing like this. 

“Ugh. It’s so comically romantic. I hate it here,” she tells him, “It makes me a little jealous, to be honest. Usually, the guys I date are over the whole dating thing by the third weekend,”

Simon chuckles and squeezes her hand, “Exactly. By the way, you deserve better. If you want the flowers and shit, you deserve it, y’know,” 

She closes her eyes and grins, “Yup. But I’m still having way too much fun now. Besides, now I can live vicariously through your fucking fairy-tale,”

Simon grabs her hand and gives it a mock kiss, followed by a grin, happy to finally let his feelings about Baz materialise into actual words, and not just heart-clenching emotions.

-

It takes Baz a full month of dating to finally come to terms with telling Simon about his bar snog. It takes him a month to confess, but he’s been thinking about it the whole time.

He doesn’t think Simon’s going to run if he tells him or anything of the sort, but he doesn’t want this sweet dating dynamic they have going on to change. At first, Baz was set on seducing him and finding a weak spot in his resolve, but Simon, now having the patience of a saint, managed to ignore his advances. So far, he’s only focused on properly getting to know him. At first, it was annoying, but slowly, he started looking forward to their dates, the rush of running out of his office and picking him up for a nice evening out, and he’s way too happy now to comprehend it.

They spend their time together chatting and telling each other random facts about themselves, going on dinners or cooking together, sharing music and playing mystery board games –at which Simon is terribly good at, given his experience. It’s all so magical, and he sometimes thinks he’s going to wake up and realise this is all a dream.

Dating him the first time was good, with the teenage rush of hormones and the secrecy and the thrill of the forbidden, but dating him now, as a twenty-six-year-old bloke that’s out of the closet, is fantastic. 

Now that they have steady jobs and can afford dates and have places to be alone without interruption, it’s so much better. Plus, everyone sort of knows they’re back together, from their social media posts but nobody really cares… it’s just delightful.

This time, Simon meets him outside his office for a cheeky round of drinks with Adri and her friend from work at the pub. It’s raining a little, nothing Simon’s raincoat can’t handle, so he waits just outside the glass door.

Baz spots him from inside, and a smile forms quickly on his face. He’s out of the building and grabbing his hand in less than a second.

“Snow,” he greets him. 

Simon kisses his cheek affectionately and grins, “Hey. Ready for some drinks?”

“Sure. It’s only Tuesday, but sure, little rogue,” Baz says squeezing his hand, “The ladies are already waiting,”

They make their way walking hand in hand, with Simon telling him all about this crazy cake they’re designing for a birthday party. Before this, Baz had never thought about how difficult it is for people in the food industry to deal with all kinds of requests and customers that go out of their way to make something way too complicated.

“Yup. So, if you need me on Friday, you won’t find me, I’ll be buried underneath a million fondant dogs,” 

Baz shakes his head, amused at his story, “Honestly, Snow. I would just quit. Especially after she’s changed the design three times already. Either way, I’m sure it’ll be perfect,”

“I’ll text you a photo so you can judge it once it’s done,”

“Of course, Snow. I will be expecting it all day, promise,” Baz replies. It makes him chuckle to go through his photo gallery now because it’s flooded with random cakes and cookies, and of course, loads of cute selfies. 

Really, it couldn’t be better.

The evening is perfect, they all have some greasy pub food for dinner, and Baz is grateful since he gets overtly hungry when it’s colder outside. Simon wows Adri and her friend with all his baking stories and promises to invite them for tea and homemade pastries sometime. They’re delighted. It all goes smoothly until they get interrogated about how they met.

They’re honest about the principle, them being together as teenagers first and then breaking up due to Uni. Of course, they exclude everything magic-related and violent. Which, to be fair, is kind of hard because their adolescence was filled with both.

Although Posie is undoubtedly a mage, Adri isn’t. Simon is aware of this since Posie explained the story ages ago about how Adri was her adopted sister. She loves her as her own sister, cared about none of the adoption shit, except they all had to be incredibly careful about the magic thing. That’s also one of the reasons why Posie studied abroad during the summers and skipped the whole Watford thing.

They both went to school together, Posie even took her A-Levels, although she was certain at that point she wouldn’t work a regular job.

Watching Baz interacting with his co-workers is a new experience for Simon. They’re a couple of years older than Baz, but it makes it even better. It’s obvious the three of them have their own inside jokes going on, and they love to tease Baz about his choice in men. Except for Simon, they remark. It stings a bit to know he’s never talked about him, or at least not in a significant way, contrary to him vomiting details about him to Posie, even before their reencounter.

They drink gin and tonics, and by the time they check their phones, it’s past ten already. Simon is grateful he doesn’t work on Wednesdays, so he orders another round, smirking at Baz, who still looks put together.

Baz leans into his ear, “I hope you have a plan on how to get us home, Snow,” he whispers, and slowly rests his hand on his thigh under the table.

The ladies are unaware of what’s going on, but he still flicks his eyes to them to make sure they’re not looking. He tucks one of Baz’s loose hair strands behind his ear and leans up to plant a kiss on the angle of his jaw. Baz squeezes his thigh.

Simon has absolutely no intention of bending to Baz’s Will, but it’s fun to work him up, create even more anticipation for when it happens.

Just because they’re doing the whole old-fashioned thing, it doesn’t mean they haven’t made a game of teasing each other to see who breaks first. It’s all subtle touches, heated glances, hands on thighs, accidental neck kisses and the sort. Simon would be too embarrassed to admit that all of that, the subtlety gets him going, except he can tell Baz gets just as hot as he does.

After one more round, they all agree it’s a good idea to stop there since they’re working the next day. They wait until Adri and her friend leave safely together to Uber themselves to Baz’s place.

Baz’s drunken brain delivers him a sense of urgency to talk about the incident, and he can tell it will slip from his mouth anyway, so once they’re just inside his flat, he drops the bomb on a very lively Simon.

“I have to tell you something, now,” he says as he removes his shoes carefully near the door and hangs his coat.

“Yeah?” Simon asks, and crowds him against the door eyes boring onto his, “Go on, darling,”

Baz takes a deep breath, trying to tell himself this is an awful idea, but before he can stop himself, he blurts it out, “The night before our first date, the midnight breakfast, I was just coming home from Dev’s birthday-“ he gets interrupted by Simon’s hand running down his arm until he reaches his hand and intertwines their fingers together.

“Mmmh, you looked lovely, I remember” Simon is so close his breath is fanning on his face.

“You can be mad if you want. You can end this, alright?” Simon nods once but keeps his eyes on his, “I snogged someone that night, I’m sorry, I was drunk-“

He gets cut off momentarily by Simon’s hand on his jaw, tilting his chin to the side, away from his face. He’s not gripping it with any force at all, his fingers barely keeping him in place.

Simon has always been quick to respond in battle, but he’s also very intuitive when it comes to sex and physical touch. Baz isn’t sure about what’s happening, but he wraps one of his arms around his waist, bringing him closer. He feels his face closer to his neck this time, but he goes on.

“It meant nothing to me, I just wanted to see-“ Simon kisses his neck once near his ear. Baz whines, doesn’t care if he sounds pathetic.

“Did he kiss you here like this?” Simon asks, and makes his way down, sliding his lips down his neck, all the way to where his button-down is open. 

Baz moans quietly and closes his eyes, trying to hold back. This is the most intense contact they’ve had in years, and he’s on fire. Simon drops his hand and runs it up his chest slowly, creating even more delicious friction.

“Uh, no,” he replies weakly, a bit too late.

“Or was it like this, honey?” Simon asks, making his way up his neck again, leaving wet kisses on his cold skin as his hand makes his way to his shoulder, “Did you think of me while you were with him?”

Baz groans again, not caring about what he sounds like anymore and bites his lip. He feels the tingling in his skull of his fangs trying to drop, which hasn’t happened accidentally in years, much less during sex, “Yes. Of course- That’s all I was thinking about,”

It’s electric, to be this close to him, his smoky magic tangling around him, numbing his senses until all he can feel is Simon. He focuses on the feel of his stubble on his throat, the warmth of his skin, and the heavy sensation of his lips leaving a trail across his neck. He’s also shocked to realise Simon remembers the sort of things he likes, being held in place, for example. It only turns him on more.

He turns his face rebelliously toward Simon and opens his mouth, offering it, not caring if he’s being too needy. Simon runs his thumb over his bottom lip, and Baz kisses it quickly.

“Greedy,” Simon says simply and slides away from him, leaving him dazed and cold. He bites his bottom lip and gives him an innocent smile.

“You’re going to stop, just like that?” Baz complains, adjusting his trousers discretely.

“Yep,” Simon replies, “Was fun,”

“Are you mad?” Baz asks, focusing on the important it, “About what I was telling you before I was rudely side-tracked,”

Simon chuckles and shakes his head, “No. Course I am not. A little jealous? Maybe, but I'm not angry, at all,”

“Then what was that?”

Simon shrugs back to himself, “Something. I dunno, saw the opportunity and ran with it,” he says, discarding his shoes messily on the foyer, “But just so we’re clear, Basil, since New Year’s Eve, I haven’t seen anyone else, yeah? Not for a shag, not for drinks or whatever. For me, it’s exclusive. Boyfriends and all,”

Baz grins, “Well, luckily for you, I’m still extremely monogamous. Although I’m not sure about the boyfriend thing since you haven’t kissed me yet,”

Simon rolls his eyes at his choice of words, “Well, that’s sorted then,” he pulls on his hand and Baz goes willingly until his boyfriend plants a kiss on his cheek.

“A proper kiss, Snow,”

“Soon,”

Baz groans, “Your mouth was just my neck, what sort of confirmation do you need?”

“Soon, you’ll see. Now, didn’t you say you were dying for a midnight drink?” Simon asks him, blue eyes glowing in the dim light of the foyer.

They sober up a bit while Baz drinks blood from a coffee mug and Simon sits next to him on the counter, drinking glass after glass of water. Without much fuss or innuendos, they get into bed together, in varying degrees of undress.

The last thing Simon thinks about that night, as he nuzzles into the back of Baz's neck, is how this is the first time they’ve shared a bed in a very long time, yet it feels incredibly natural to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🖤 🖤 hope you liked it!!! let me know in the comments!
> 
> Lots of love,  
> MP


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